•a* 


•rift 


R!L 


LOTHES-LIN 
LLEY 


BELLE  K.  MANIATES 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF 
CALIFORNIA 

SAN  , 


AMARILLY 

OF 

CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 


He  was  gazing  into  her  intent  eyes  with  a  look  of 
adoration.     FRONTISPIECE.    See  Page  103. 


AMARILLY 

OF 

CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 


BY 
BELLE  K.  MANIATES 

AUTHOR  OF  "DAVID  DUNNB" 


WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS    BY 

J.    HENRY 


a i  WVAD  •  Q 


BOSTON 
LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY 

1915 


Copyright, 
BY  LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY. 


All  rights  reserved 


Published,  February,  1915 
Reprinted,  February,  1915  (twice) 


8.  J.  PARKHILL  A  Co.,  BOSTON,  U.S.A. 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


He  was  gazing  into  her  intent  eyes  with 

a  look  of  adoration Frontitpiece 

"You  may  all,"  she  directed,  "look  at 

Amarilly  'a  work  " PAGE    12 

Tonight  he  found  himself  less  able  than 

usual  to  cope  with  her  caprices  .    .  158 

"  Be  nice  to  Mr.  St.  John !  '  whispered 

the  little  peacemaker 242 


AMARILLY 

OF 

CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

CHAPTER  I 

THE  tiny,  trivial  touch  of  Destiny  that 
caused  the  turn  in  Amarilly's  fate-tide 
came  one  morning  when,  in  her  capacity  as 
assistant  to  the  scrub  ladies  at  the  Barlow 
Stock  Theatre,  she  viewed  for  the  first  time 
the  dress  rehearsal  of  A  Terrible  Trial. 
Heretofore  the  patient  little  plodder  had 
found  in  her  occupation  only  the  sordid 
satisfaction  of  drawing  her  wages,  but  now 
the  resplendent  costumes,  the  tragedy  in 
the  gestures  of  the  villain,  the  languid  grace 
of  Lord  Algernon,  and  the  haughty  treble 
of  the  leading  lady  struck  the  spark  that 
fired  ambition  in  her  sluggish  breast. 

"Oh!"   she  gasped  in  wistful- voiced  solilo- 
quy, as  she  leaned  against  her  mop-stick  and 

m 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

gazed  aspiringly  at  the  stage,  "I  wonder  if  I 
couldn't  rise!" 

"Sure  thing,  you  kin!"  derisively  assured 
Pete  Noyes,  vender  of  gum  at  matinees. 
"I'll  speak  to  de  maniger.  Mebby  he'll  let 
youse  scrub  de  galleries." 

Amarilly,  case-hardened  against  raillery  by 
reason  of  the  possession  of  a  multitude  of 
young  brothers,  paid  no  heed  to  the  banter- 
ing scoffer,  but  resumed  her  work  in  dogged 
dejection. 

"Say,  Mr.  Vedder,  Amarilly 's  stage- 
struck!"  called  Pete  to  the  ticket-seller, 
who  chanced  to  be  passing. 

The  gray  eyes  of  the  young  man  thus 
addressed  softened  as  he  looked  at  the  small, 
eager  face  of  the  youngest  scrubber. 

"Stop  at  the  office  on  your  way  out, 
Amarilly,"  he  said  kindly,  "and  I'll  give  you 
a  pass  to  the  matinee  this  afternoon." 

Amarilly 's  young  heart  fluttered  wildly 
and  sent  a  wave  of  pink  into  her  pale  cheeks 
as  she  voiced  her  gratitude. 

She  was  the  first  to  enter  when  the  doors 
opened  that  afternoon,  and  she  kept  close 
to  the  heels  of  the  usher. 

"He  ain't  agoin'  to  give  me  the  slip,"  she 
[2] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

thought,   keeping   wary   watch   of   his   lithe 
form  as  he  slid  down  the  aisle. 

In  the  blaze  of  light  and  blare  of  instru- 
ments she  scarcely  recognized  her  workaday 
environment. 

"House  sold  out!"  she  muttered  with 
professional  pride,  and  enthusiasm  as  the 
signal  for  the  raising  of  the  curtain  was  given. 
"Mebby  I'd  orter  give  up  my  seat  so  as  they 
could  sell  it." 

There  was  a  moment's  conflict  between 
the  little  scrubber's  conscience  and  her  newly 
awakened  desires. 

"I  ain't  agoin'  to,  though,"  she  decided. 
And  having  so  determined,  she  gave  her 
conscience  a  shove  to  the  remotest  back- 
ground, yielding  herself  to  the  full  enjoyment 
of  the  play. 

;The  rehearsal  had  been  inspiring  and 
awakening,  but  this,  "the  real  thing,"  as 
Amarilly  appraised  it,  bore  her  into  a  land 
of  enchantment.  She  was  blind  and  deaf  to 
everything  except  the  scenes  enacted  on  the 
stage.  Only  once  was  her  passionate  atten- 
tion distracted,  and  that  was  when  Pete  in 
passing  gave  her  an  emphatic  nudge  and  a 
friendly  grin  as  he  munificently  bestowed 

[3] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

upon  her  a  package  of  gum.     This  she  in- 
stantly pocketed  "fer  the  chillern." 

At  the  close  of  the  performance  Amarilly 
sailed  home  on  waves  of  excitement.  She 
was  the  eldest  of  the  House  of  Jenkins,  whose 
scions,  numbering  eight,  were  all  wage-earn- 
ers save  Iry,  the  baby.  After  school  hours 
Flamingus  was  a  district  messenger,  Gus 
milked  the  grocer's  cow,  Milton  worked  in 
a  shoe-shining  establishment,  Bobby  and 
Bud  had  paper  routes,  while  Cory,  commonly 
called  "Co,"  wiped  dishes  at  a  boarding- 
house.  Notwithstanding  all  these  contri- 
butions to  the  family  revenue,  it  became  a 
sore  struggle  for  the  widow  of  Americanus 
Jenkins  to  feed  and  clothe  such  a  numerous 
brood,  so  she  sought  further  means  of  mainte- 
nance. 

"I've  took  a  boarder!"  she  announced 
solemnly  to  Amarilly  on  her  return  from  the 
theatre.  "He's  a  switchman  and  I'm  agoin' 
to  fix  up  the  attic  fer  him.  I  don't  jest  see 
how  we  air  agoin'  to  manage  about  feedin' 
him.  Thar's  no  room  to  the  table  now,  and 
thar  ain't  dishes  enough  to  go  around,  but 
you're  so  contrivin'  like,  I  thought  you 
might  find  out  a  way." 

[4] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

Memories  of  the  footlights  were  tempo- 
rarily banished  upon  hearing  this  wonderful 
intelligence.  A  puzzled  pucker  came  be- 
tween the  brows  of  the  little  would-be  prima 
donna  and  remained  there  until  at  last  the 
exigency  was  triumphantly  met. 

"I  hev  it,  ma!     When's  he  comin'?" 

"To-morrer  fer  breakfast." 

"Then  we  must  ray  hearse  to-night  afore 
we  kin  put  it  on  right.  Come,  all  you-uns, 
to  the  kitchen  table." 

The  Jenkins  children,  accustomed  to  the 
vernacular  of  the  profession,  were  eager  to 
participate  in  a  rehearsal,  and  they  scam- 
pered boisterously  to  the  kitchen  precincts. 
Amarilly,  as  stage  director,  provided  seats 
at  the  table  for  herself,  her  mother,  Flam- 
ingus,  Gus,  the  baby,  and  the  Boarder,  the 
long-suffering,  many-roled  family  cat  person- 
ating the  latter  as  understudy.  Behind  their 
chairs,  save  those  occupied  by  the  Boarder 
and  the  baby,  were  stationed  Milton,  Bobby, 
Bud,  and  Cory.  This  outer  row,  Amarilly 
explained,  was  to  be  fed  from  the  plates  of 
their  elders  with  food  convenient  as  was 
Elijah  by  the  Scriptural  ravens.  This  plan 
lifted  the  strain  from  the  limited  table 

[5] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

appointments,  but  met  with  opposition  from 
the  outpost  who  rebelled  against  their  stations. 

"I  ain't  agoin'  to  stand  behind  Flam  or 
Gus,"  growled  Milton.  "I  won't  stand  no 
show  fer  grub  at  all." 

"I  ain't,  neither,"  and  "Nit  fer  me!" 
chorused  the  near  twins,  Bobby  and  Bud. 

"I  want  to  set  at  the  table  and  eat  like 
folks!"  sobbed  Cory. 

Mrs.  Jenkins  advocated  .immediate  sur- 
render, but  the  diplomatic  little  general, 
whose  policy  was  pacification,  in  shrill,  ap- 
pealing voice  reassured  and  wheedled  the 
young  mutineers  back  into  the  ranks. 

"It's  the  only  way  we  can  take  a  boarder," 
she  persuaded,  "and  if  we  git  him,  we'll  hev 
more  to  eat  than  jest  hot  pertaters  and 
bread  and  gravy.  Thar'll  be  meat,  fresh  or 
hotted  up,  onct  a  day,  and  pie  on  Sundays." 

The  deserters  to  a  man  returned  from  their 
ignominious  retreat. 

"Now,  Co,  you  stand  behind  me,  and 
when  you  git  tired,  you  kin  set  on  half  my 
chair.  Milt,  git  behind  ma,  and  Bud  and 
Bobby,  stand  back  of  Flamingus  and  Gus. 
If  they  don't  diwy  up  even  they'll  hev  to 
change  places  with  you.  Now,  to  places!" 

[6] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

This  conciliatory  arrangement  proving  sat- 
isfactory, supper  was  served  on  the  new  plan 
with  numerous  directions  and  admonitions 
from  Amarilly. 

"No  self-helpin's,  Milt.  Bud,  if  you  knock 
Flammy's  elbow,  he  needn't  give  you  any- 
thing to  eat.  Bobby,  if  you  swipe  another 
bite  from  Gus,  I'll  spank  you.  Co,  quit  yer 
self-reachin's !  Flammy,  you  hev  got  to  pass 
everything  to  the  Boarder  fust.  Now,  every 
meal  that  I  don't  hev  to  speak  to  one  of 
youse  in  the  back  row,  youse  kin  hev  mer- 
lasses  spread  on  yer  bread." 

The  rehearsal  supper  finished  and  the 
kitchen  "red  up,"  Amarilly 's  thoughts  again 
took  flight  and  in  fancy  she  winged  her  way 
toward  a  glorious  future  amid  the  glow  and 
glamor  of  the  footlights.  To  the  attentive 
family,  who  hung  in  an  ecstasy  of  approval 
on  her  vivid  portrayal,  she  graphically  de- 
scribed the  play  she  had  witnessed,  and  then 
dramatically  announced  her  intention  of  go- 
ing on  the  stage  when  she  grew  up. 

'You  kin  do  it  fine,  Amarilly,"  said  the 
mother  admiringly. 

"And  we-uns  kin  git  in  free!"  cried  Bobby 
jubilantly. 

[7] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

In  the  morning  the  Boarder,  a  pleasant- 
voiced,  quiet-faced  man  with  a  look  of 
kindliness  about  his  eyes  and  mouth,  made 
his  entrance  into  the  family  circle.  He  com- 
mended the  table  arrangements,  praised  the 
coffee,  and  formed  instantaneous  friendships 
with  the  children.  All  the  difficulties  of  the 
cuisine  having  been  smoothed  over  or  victori- 
ously met,  Amarilly  went  to  the  theatre  with 
a  lightened  heart.  When  Mr.  Vedder  came 
up  to  her  and  asked  how  she  had  enjoyed 
the  performance,  she  felt  emboldened  to  con- 
fide to  him  her  professional  aspirations. 

The  young  ticket-seller  did  not  smile. 
There  was  nothing  about  this  diligent,  ill-fed, 
little  worker  that  appealed  to  his  sense  of 
humor. 

"It  will  be  a  long  time  yet,  Amarilly,  be- 
fore you  can  go  on  the  stage,"  he  counselled. 
"Besides,  you  know  the  first  thing  you  must 
have  is  an  education." 

Amarilly  sighed  hopelessly. 

"I  can't  git  to  go  to  school  till  the  boys 
hev  more  larnin'.  I  hev  to  work  here 
mornin's  and  help  ma  with  the  washin's  in 
the  arternoon.  Mebby,  arter  a  little,  I  kin 
git  into  some  night-school." 

[8] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

A  stage-hand  working  near  by  overheard 
this  conversation  and  displayed  instant 
interest  in  the  subject  of  Amarilly's 
schooling. 

"Couldn't  you  git  off  Saturday  arter- 
noons?"  he  asked. 

;'Yes,  I  could  do  that,"  assured  Amarilly 
eagerly.  "Is  thar  a  Saturday  arternoon 
school?" 

*  Yes,"  replied  the  man.  '"  There  is  a  church 
guild,  St.  Mark's,  that  has  a  school.  My 
little  gal  goes.  She  larns  sewin'  and  singin* 
and  waitin'  on  table  and  such  like.  You'd 
better  go  with  her  to-morrow." 

"I  kin  sew  now,"  said  Amarilly,  repeating 
this  conversation  to  the  family  circle  that 
night,  "and  I'd  like  to  sing,  fer  of  course 
I'll  hev  to  when  I'm  on  the  stage,  but  I  git 
enough  waitin'  on  table  to  hum.  I'd  ruther 
larn  to  read  better  fust  of  all." 

"I  ain't  much  of  a  scholar,"  observed  the 
Boarder  modestly,  "but  I  can  learn  you 
readin',  writin',  and  spellin'  some,  and  fig- 
gerin'  too.  I'll  give  you  lessons  evenin's." 

"We'll  begin  now!"  cried  the  little  tyro 
enthusiastically. 

The   Boarder   approved    this   promptness, 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

and  that  night  gave  the  first  lesson  from 
Flamingus's  schoolbooks. 

The  next  morning  Amarilly  proudly  in- 
formed the  ticket-seller  that  her  education 
had  begun.  She  was  consequently  rather 
lukewarm  in  regard  to  the  Guild  school  prop- 
osition, but  the  little  daughter  of  the  stage- 
hand pictured  the  school  and  her  teacher  in 
most  enticing  fashion. 

;<You  kin  be  in  our  class,"  she  coaxed 
persuasively.  "We  hev  a  new  teacher. 
She's  a  real  swell  and  wears  a  diamon'  ring 
and  her  hair  is  more  yaller  than  the  wig 
what  the  play  lady  wears.  She  hed  us  up  to 
her  house  to  a  supper  last  week,  and  thar  was 
velvit  carpits  and  ice-cream  and  lots  of  cake 
but  no  pie." 

Amarilly 's  curiosity  was  aroused,  and  her 
red,  roughened  hand  firmly  grasped  the  con- 
fiding one  of  her  little  companion  as  she  per- 
mitted herself  to  be  led  to  the  Guild  school. 


[10] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  teacher  at  the  Guild  was  even  more 
beautiful  than  Amarilly's  fancy,  fed 
by  the  little  girl's  vivid  description,  had 
pictured. 

"Her  hair  ain't  boughten,"  decided  the 
keen-eyed  critic  as  she  gazed  adoringly  at 
the  golden  braids  crowning  the  small  head. 
The  color  of  her  eyes  was  open  to  specula- 
tion; when  they  had  changed  from  gray  to 
green,  from  green  to  hazel,  and  from  hazel 
to  purple,  Amarilly  gave  up  the  enigma. 
The  color  of  her  complexion  changed,  too, 
in  the  varying  tints  of  peaches. 

"I  do  b'lieve  she  ain't  got  no  make-up  on," 
declared  Amarilly  wonderingly. 

The  little  daughter  of  the  stage-hand  had 
not  overappraised  the  diamond.  It  shone 
resplendent  on  a  slender,  shapely  hand. 

"Miss  King,  I've  brung  a  new  scholar," 
introduced  the  little  girl  importantly.  "She's 
Amarilly." 

As  she  glanced  at  her  new  pupil,  the  young 
teacher's  eyes  brightened  with  spontaneous 

[11] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

interest,  and  a  welcoming  smile  parted  her 
lips. 

"I'm  glad  to  see  you,  Amarilly.  Here's  a 
nice  little  pile  of  blue  carpet  rags  to  sew  and 
make  into  a  ball.  When  you  have  made  a 
lot  of  balls  I'll  have  them  woven  into  a  pretty 
blue  rug  for  you  to  take  home  and  keep." 

"For  the  Boarder's  room!"  thought  Ama- 
rilly joyously,  as  she  went  at  her  work  with 
the  avidity  that  marked  all  her  undertakings. 

Presently  a  small  seamstress  asked  for 
instruction  as  to  the  proper  method  of  put- 
ting the  strips  together.  The  fair  face  of' 
the  young  teacher  became  clouded  for  a 
moment,  and  she  was  unmistakably  con- 
fused. Her  wavering,  dubious  glance  fell 
upon  Amarilly  sitting  tense  and  upright  a* 
she  made  quick,  forceful,  and  effective  stab  4 
with  her  needle,  biting  her  thread  vigorously 
and  resonantly.  The  stitches  were  micro- 
scopic and  even;  the  strips  symmetrically 
and  neatly  joined. 

The  teacher's  face  cleared  as  she  saw  and 
seized  her  avenue  of  escape. 

:*You  may  all,"  she  directed,  "look  at 
Amarilly 's  work  and  sew  the  strips  just  as 
she  does.  Hers  are  perfect." 

[12] 


You  may  all,"  she  directed,  "  look  at  Amarilly's  work." 
Page  12. 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

Amarilly's  wan  little  face  brightened,  and 
she  proceeded  to  show  the  children  how  to 
sew,  bringing  the  same  ease  and  effectiveness 
into  her  tutoring  that  she  displayed  when 
instructing  her  brothers  and  Cory. 

The  sewing  lesson  continued  for  an  hour. 
Then  the  children  sang  songs  to  a  piano 
accompaniment,  and  there  followed  a  lesson 
in  cooking  and  the  proper  setting  of  a  table. 
All  this  instruction  was  succeeded  by  an 
informal  chat. 

"I  want  you  all  to  tell  me  what  you  are 
going  to  do  when  you  grow  to  be  women," 
said  Miss  Bang. 

In  most  cases  the  occupations  of  their 
parents  were  chosen,  and  the  number  of 
washerwomen,  scrubbers,  and  seamstresses  in 
embryo  was  appalling. 

"And  you,  Amarilly?"  she  asked,  address- 
ing the  new  pupil  last  of  all. 

Amarilly's  mien  was  lofty,  her  voice  conse- 
quential, as  she  replied  in  dramatic  denoue- 
ment: 

"I'm  goin*  on  the  stage!" 

The  young  teacher  evinced  a  most  eager 
interest  in  this  declaration. 

"Oh,  Amarilly!  We  all  have  a  stage- 
[13] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

longing  period.     When  did  you  first  think 
of  such  a  career?  " 

"I'm  in  the  perfesshun  now,"  replied  Ama- 
rilly  pompously. 

"Really!   Tell  me  what  you  do,  AmariUy." 

"I  scrub  at  the  Barlow  Theatre,  and  I 
went  to  the  matinee  day  afore  yisterday.  I 
hed  a  pass  give  to  me." 

These  statements  made  such  a  visible 
impression  on  her  audience  that  AmariUy 
waxed  eloquent  and  proceeded  to  describe 
the  play,  warming  to  her  work  as  she  gained 
confidence.  The  gestures  of  Lord  Algernon 
and  the  leading  lady  were  reproduced  freely, 
fearlessly,  and  faithfully. 

With  a  glimmer  of  mischief  dancing  in  her 
eyes,  the  young  teacher  listened  apprecia- 
tively but  apprehensively  as  she  noted  the 
amazed  expression  on  the  faces  of  the  teach- 
ers of  adjacent  classes  when  Amarilly's  treble 
tones  were  wafted  toward  them.  Fortu- 
nately, the  realistic  rendering  of  Lord  Alger- 
non's declaration  of  love  was  interrupted  by 
the  accompaniment  to  a  song,  which  was 
followed  by  the  dismissal  of  the  school. 

" Kin  I  take  my  strips  home  to  sew  on?" 
asked  Amarilly. 

[14] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

"Oh,  no!"  replied  Miss  King.  "That  is 
not  permitted." 

Seeing  the  look  of  disappointment  in  the 
child's  eyes,  she  asked  in  kindly  tone: 

"Why  are  you  in  such  a  hurry  to  finish  the 
work,  Amarilly?" 

"We've  took  a  Boarder,"  explained 
Amarilly,  "and  I  want  the  rug  fer  his  room. 
It'll  take  an  orful  long  time  to  git  it  done  if 
I  only  work  on  it  an  hour  onct  a  week.  He's 
so  good  to  me,  I  want  to  do  something  to 
make  his  room  look  neat,  so  he'll  feel  to  hum." 

The  young  teacher  reflected  a  moment. 

"I'll  tell  you  what  we'll  do,  Amarilly. 
I  will  buy  one  of  the  rugs  that  are  to  be  on 
sale  at  the  church  fair  this  week.  They 
have  some  very  nice  large  ones.  I  will  give 
it  to  you,  and  when  yours  is  finished  you  may 
give  it  to  me  in  return." 

"Oh,  thank  you!"  cried  Amarilly,  her 
countenance  brightening.  "But  won't  you 
need  it  afore  I  kin  git  this  one  done?" 

"No;  I  am  sure  I  shall  not,"  replied  the 
young  lady  gravely. 

When  they  left  the  building  the  teacher 
paused  as  she  was  about  to  step  into  her 
electric  brougham. 

[15] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

"Where  do  you  live,  Amarilly?" 

Amarilly  gave  her  street  and  number. 

:'You  must  live  farther  away  than  any  of 
the  other  children.  Get  in,  dear;  I  will  take 
you  home." 

She  had  opened  the  door  as  she  spoke, 
and  the  little  scrubber's  eyes  were  dazzled 
by  the  elegance  of  the  appointments  —  a 
silver  vase  filled  with  violets,  a  silver  card- 
case,  and  -  -  but  Amarilly  resolutely  shut  her 
eyes  upon  this  proffered  grandeur  and  turned 
to  the  lean  but  longing  little  daughter  of  the 
stage-hand. 

'You  see,  I  come  with  her,"  she  explained 
simply  and  loyally. 

'There  is  room  for  you  both.  Myrtie 
can  sit  on  this  little  seat." 

Overawed  by  the  splendor  of  her  environ- 
ment, Amarilly  held  her  breath  as  they 
glided  swiftly  through  the  streets.  There  was 
other  glory,  it  seemed,  than  that  of  the  foot- 
lights. When  the  happy  little  Myrtle  had 
been  left  at  her  humble  home  the  young 
teacher  turned  with  eager  anticipation  to 
Amarilly. 

"Tell  me  more  about  yourself,  Amarilly. 
First  of  all,  who  is  the  Boarder?" 

[16] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

Amarilly  explained  their  affairs,  even  to  the 
"double-decker  diner,"  as  the  Boarder  had 
called  the  table  arrangement. 

"And  what  has  he  done  for  you,  Amarilly, 
that  you  are  so  anxious  he  should  have  a 
rug?" 

"He's  larnin'  me  readin',  writin',  spellin', 
and  figgers." 

"Don't  you  go  to  school?" 

"No;  I  hev  to  bring  in  wages  and  help 
ma  with  the  washin's. " 

"I'll  teach  you,  Amarilly,"  she  said  im- 
pulsively. "I'm  sure  I'm  more  proficient 
in  those  branches  than  the  Boarder." 

"He  sez,"  admitted  Amarilly,  "that  it 
won't  take  him  long  to  larn  me  all  he  knows; 
but  you  see  -  She  spoke  with  delicate 
hesitancy  and  evident  embarrassment.  "It's 
orful  good  in  you  to  want  to  larn  me  —  but 
he  might  feel  hurt-like  if  I  was  to  quit  him." 

'You  are  right,  Amarilly.  You  are  a 
loyal  little  girl.  But  I  tell  you  what  we  will 
do  about  it.  When  you  have  learned  all  that 
the  Boarder  feels  he  can  teach  you,  you  shall 
go  to  night-school.  There  is  one  in  con- 
nection with  St.  Mark's.  I  will  see  that  you 
enter  there." 

[17J 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

"I  didn't  know  thar  was  one  fer  girls," 
said  Amarilly.  "I'm  glad  thar's  a  way  fer 
me  to  git  eddicated,  fer  I  must  hev  larnin* 
afore  I  kin  go  on  the  stage.  Mr.  Vedder, 
the  ticket-seller  to  Barlow's,  told  me  so." 

"Amarilly,"  -and  an  earnest  note  crept 
into  the  gay,  young  voice-  "you  may  find 
things  that  you  will  like  to  do  more  than  to 
go  on  the  stage." 

"No!"  asserted  the  youthful  aspirant,  "thar 
ain't  nuthin'  else  I'd  like  so  well." 

"Amarilly,  I  am  going  to  tell  you  some- 
thing. Once,  not  long  ago,  I  had  the  stage 
fever,  but  I  think  I  know  now  there  is  some- 
thing —  something  I  should  like  better." 

"What?"  queried  Amarilly  skeptically. 

"I  can't  tell  you  now,  but  you  have  a  long 
time  yet  in  which  to  decide  your  future.  Tell 
me  what  I  can  do  to  help  your  mother." 

"If  you  could  git  us  more  washin's,"  ex- 
claimed Amarilly  eagerly,  "it  would  help 
heaps.  We  could  take  in  lots  more  than  we 
do  now." 

"Let  me  think.  You  see  we  keep  a  laun- 
dress; but  —  does  your  mother  do  up  very 
fine  things  —  like  laces  —  carefully?" 

"She  does,"  replied  Amarilly  glibly.  "She 
[18] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

kin  do  'em  orful  keerful,  and  we  dry  the  col- 
ored stuffs  in  the  shade.  And  our  clo'es 
come  out  snow-white  allers,  and  we  never 
tears  laces  nor  git  in  too  much  bluin'  or 
starch  the  way  some  folks  does." 

'Then  I'll  give  you  my  address  and  you  can 
come  for  my  fine  waists;  and  let  me  see,  I 
am  sure  I  can  get  St.  Mark's  laundry  work 
for  you,  too." 

'You're  orful  good,  Miss  King.  This  is 
where  we  hev  to  turn  down  this  'ere  court." 

The  "court"  appeared  to  Miss  King  more 
like  an  alley.  The  advent  of  the  brougham 
in  the  little  narrow  right-of-way  filled  every 
window  with  hawk-eyed  observers.  About 
the  Jenkins's  doorstep  was  grouped  the  entire 
household  from  the  Boarder  to  the  baby, 
and  the  light,  musical  voices  of  children  float- 
ing through  the  soft  spring  air  fell  pleasantly 
upon  the  ears  of  the  young  settlement 
worker. 

"So  this  is  where  you  live,  Amarilly?" 
she  asked,  her  eyes  sparkling  as  she  focussed 
them  on  the  family.  'You  needn't  come 
for  the  washing  the  first  time.  I  will  bring 
it  myself  so  I  can  see  all  your  little  brothers. 
Be  sure  to  come  to  the  Guild  next  Saturday, 

[19] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE;  ALLEY 

and  then  I'll  have  the  rug  for  you  to  take 
home.     Good-by,  dear." 

Knowing  that  she  was  observed  by  myr- 
iad eyes,  Amarilly  stepped  loftily  from  the 
brougham  and  made  a  sweeping  stage 
courtesy  to  her  departing  benefactress. 

"Are  you  on  the  stage  now,  Amarilly?" 
asked  Co  eagerly  as  she  came  to  meet  her 
sister. 

"No;  but  she,"  with  a  wave  of  her  hand 
toward  the  swiftly  gliding  electric,  "is  agoin' 
to  help  me  git  eddicated,  and  she  has  give 
me  a  beautiful  rug  fer  the  Boarder,  and  we're 
agoin'  to  hev  her  waists  to  wash,  and  Mr. 
St.  Mark's  clo'es,  and  she  told  all  the  scholars 
to  sew  like  me  'cause'  I  sewed  the  best,  and 
I've  lamed  how  to  set  our  table.  We  mustn't 
stack  up  the  knife  and  fork  and  spoon  on  ends 
any  more.  The  knife  goes  to  the  right,  the 
fork  to  the  left  of  the  plate,  and  the  spoon 
goes  back  of  it  and  the  tumbler  and  the 
napkin,  when  you  has  'em,  to  the  right." 

"I  do  declare,  Amarilly,  if  it  ain't  jest 
like  a  fairy  story!"  cried  Mrs.  Jenkins  enthu- 
siastically. "You  allers  did  strike  luck." 

"You  bet!"  cried  Bobby  admiringly. 
"Things  go  some  where  Amarilly  is." 

[20] 


AMARELLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

Amarilly  was  happier  even  than  she  had 
been  on  the  night  of  the  eventful  matinee 
day.  The  electric  brougham  had  seemed 
a  veritable  [fairy  godmother's  coach  to  her. 
But  it  was  not  the  ride  that  stood  uppermost 
in  her  memory  as  she  lay  awake  far  into  the 
night;  it  was  the  little  word  of  endearment 
uttered  in  caressing  cadence. 

"No  one  ain't  ever  called  me  that  afore," 
she  murmured  wistfully.  "I  s'pose  ma  ain't 
hed  time,  and  thar  was  no  one  else  to  keer." 

Impulsively  and  tenderly  her  thin  little 
arm  encircled  the  baby  sleeping  beside  her. 

"Dear!"  she  whispered  in  an  awed  tone. 
"Dear!"  t 

Iry  answered  with  a  sleepy,  cooing  note. 


[21] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 


CHAPTER  III 

/COLETTE  KING  was  not  one  whom 
^^  the  voice  of  the  people  of  St.  Mark's 
would  proclaim  as  the  personification  of  their 
ideal  of  a  pastor's  wife,  yet  John  Meredith 
loved  her  with  the  love  that  passeth  all  un- 
derstanding. Perhaps  the  secret  of  her  charm 
for  him  lay  in  the  fact  that  she  treated  him  as 
she  did  other  men  -  -  men  who  did  not  wear 
a  surplice.  And  yet  his  surplice  and  all  that 
pertained  thereto  were  matters  of  great  mo- 
ment to  the  rector  of  St.  Mark's.  Little 
traces  of  his  individuality  were  evident  in 
the  fashioning  of  this  clerical  garment.  A 
pocket  for  his  handkerchief  was  stitched  on 
the  left  side. 

The  flowers,  the  baptismal  font,  the  altar 
cloth,  and  the  robes  of  the  vested  choir  he 
insisted  should  be  immaculate  in  whiteness. 
White,  the  color  of  the  lily,  he  declared,  was 
the  emblem  of  purity.  There  were  members 
of  his  flock  so  worldly  minded  as  to  whisper 
insinuatingly  that  white  was  extremely  be- 
coming to  Colette  King. 


AMARELLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

Many  washerwomen  had  applied  for  the 
task  of  laundering  the  ecclesiastical  linen  ;^ 
many  had  been  tried  and  found  wanting. 
So  after  her  interview  with  Amarilly,  Colette 
asked  the  rector  of  St.  Mark's  to  call  at  her 
house  "on  important  business." 

From  the  time  he  was  ten  years  old  until 
he  became  rector  of  St.  Mark's,  John  Mere- 
dith had  been  a  member  of  the  household 
of  his  guardian,  Henry  King,  and  had  ever 
cheerfully  and  gladly  borne  with  the  caprices 
of  the  little  Colette. 

He  answered  the  present  summons  promptly 
and  palpitatingly.  It  had  been  two  weeks 
since  he  had  remonstrated  with  Colette  for 
the  surprisingly  sudden  announcement,  made 
in  seeming  seriousness,  that  she  was  going  to 
study  opera  with  a  view  to  going  on  the 
stage.  The  fact  that  she  had  a  light,  sweet 
soprano  adapted  only  to  the  rendition  of 
drawing-room  ballads  did  not  lessen  in  his 
eyes  the  probability  of  her  carrying  out  this  ' 
resolve. 

She  had  met  his  reproving  expostulations 
in  a  spirit  of  bantering  raillery  and  replied 
with  a  defiance  of  his  opinion  that  had  pierced 
his  heart  with  arrow-like  swiftness.  Since 

[23] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

then  she  had  studiously  avoided  meeting 
him,  and  he  was  not  sure  whether  he  was  now 
recalled  to  listen  to  a  reiteration  of  her  in- 
tentions or  to  receive  an  anodyne  for  the 
bitterness  of  her  remarks  at  their  last  inter- 
view. 

"I  sent  for  you,  John,"  she  said  demurely 
and  without  preamble,  "to  see  if  you  have 
found  a  satisfactory  laundress  yet  for  the 
surplices." 

"Colette!"  he  exclaimed  in  rebuking  tone, 
his  face  reddening  at  her  question  which  he 
supposed  to  be  made  in  mere  mockery. 

"I  am  not  speaking  to  you  as  Colette 
King,"  she  replied  with  a  look  half  cajoling, 
half  flippant,  "but  as  a  teacher  in  the  Young 
Woman's  Auxiliary  Guild  to  the  rector  of 
St.  Mark's.  You  see  I  no  longer  lead  a  fool- 
ish, futile  life.  Here  is  the  evidence  in  the 
case,"  holding  up  a  slender  pink  forefinger. 
"See  how  it  is  pricked!  For  three  Saturday 
afternoons  I  have  shown  little  girls  that 
smelled  of  fried  potatoes  how  to  sew.  I 
shall  really  learn  something  myself  about 
the  feminine  art  of  needlework  if  I  continue 
in  my  present  straight,  domestic  path." 

"Colette,  you  cannot  know  how  glad  I 
[24] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

am  to  hear  this.  Why  did  you  try  to  make 
me  think  the  laundry  work  was  - 

"But  the  laundry  work  is  the  main  issue. 
Yesterday  I  had  quite  decided  to  give  up  this 
uninteresting  work." 

Watching  him  warily,  she  let  the  shadow 
in  his  eyes  linger  a  moment  before  she  con- 
tinued : 

"And  then  there  came  into  my  class  a 
new  pupil,  poorly  clad  and  ignorant,  but 
so  redolent  of  soapsuds  and  with  such  a 
freshly  laundered  look  that  I  renewed  my  in- 
clinations to  charity.  I  took  her  home  in 
my  electric,  and  she  lived  at  a  distance  that 
gave  me  ample  time  to  listen  to  the  com- 
plete chronicles  of  her  young  life.  Her  father 
is  dead.  Her  mother  was  left  with  eight 
children  whom  she  supports  by  taking  in 
washing.  They  have  a  boarder  and  they 
go  around  the  dining-room  table  twice.  My 
new  pupil's  name  is  Amarilly  Jenkins,  and 
she  has  educational  longings  which  cannot 
be  satisfied  because  she  has  to  work,  so  I  am 
going  to  enter  her  in  St.  Mark's  night-school 
when  she  has  finished  a  special  course  with 
the  private  tutor  she  now  has." 

"Colette,"  said  the  young  minister  earn- 
[25] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

estly,  "why  do  you  continually  try  to  show 
yourself  to  me  in  a  false  light?  It  was  sweet 
in  you  to  take  this  little  girl  home  in  your 
brougham  and  to  feel  an  interest  in  her  im- 
provement." 

"Not  at  all!"  protested  Colette.  "My 
trend  at  present  may  appear  to  be  charitable, 
but  Amarilly  and  I  have  a  common  interest 
-  a  fellow  feeling  —  that  makes  me  wondrous 
kind.  We  both  have  longings  to  appear  in 
public  on  the  stage." 

At  this  sudden  challenge,  this  second  lower- 
ing of  the  red  flag,  John's  face  grew  stern. 

"Amarilly,"  continued  the  liquid  voice, 
"has  had  more  experience  in  stage  life  than 
I  have  had.  She  has  commenced  at  the 
lowest  round  of  the  dramatic  ladder  of  fame. 
She  scrubs  at  the  Barlow  Theatre,  and  she  is 
quite  familiar  with  stage  lore.  Her  hero  is 
the  man  who  plays  the  role  of  Lord  Algernon 
in  A  Terrible  Trial.91 

He  made  no  reply,  and  Colette  presently 
broke  the  silence. 

"Seriously,  John,"  she  said  practically  and 
in  a  tone  far  different  from  her  former  one, 
"the  Jenkins  family  are  poor  and  most  de- 
serving. I  am  going  to  give  them  some 

[26] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

work,  and  if  you  would  give  them  a  trial  on 
the  church  linen,  it  would  help  them  so  much. 
There  was  a  regular  army  of  little  children 
on  the  doorstep,  and  it  must  be  a  struggle  to 
feed  them  all.  I  should  like  to  help  them 
-  to  give  them  something  —  but  they  seem 
to  be  the  kind  of  people  that  you  can  help 
only  by  giving  them  work  to  perform.  I 
have  learned  that  true  independence  is  found 
only  among  the  poor." 

John  took  a  little  notebook  from  his 
pocket. 

"What  is  their  address,  Colette?" 

She  took  the  book  from  him  and  wrote 
down  the  street  and  number. 

"Colette,  you  endeavor  to  conceal  a  tender 
heart  - 

"And  will  you  give  them  —  Mrs.  Jenkins 
-a  trial?" 

"Yes;  this  week." 

"That  will  make  Amarilly  so  happy," 
she  said,  brightening.  "I  am  going  there 
to-morrow  to  take  them  some  work,  and 
I  will  tell  Mrs.  Jenkins  to  send  Flamin- 
gus  —  his  is  the  only  name  of  the  brood 
that  my  memory  retains  —  for  the  church 
laundry." 

[27] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

"He  may  call  at  the  rectory,"  replied 
John,  "and  get  the  house  laundry  as  well." 

"That  will  be  good  news  for  them.  I 
shall  enjoy  watching  Amarilly 's  face  when 
she  hears  it." 

"And  now,  Colette,  will  you  do  something 
for  me?" 

"Maybe.  What  is  it?"  she  asked  guard- 
edly. 

"Will  you  abandon  the  idea  of  going  on 
the  stage,  or  studying  for  that  purpose?" 

"Perforce.     Father  won't  consent." 

A  look  of  relief  drove  the  trouble  from  the 
dark  eyes  fixed  on  hers. 

"I'll  be  twenty -one  in  a  year,  however," 
she  added  carelessly. 

John  was  wise  enough  to  perceive  the 
wilfulness  that  prompted  this  reply,  and  he 
deftly  changed  the  subject  of  conversation. 

"About  this  little  girl,  Amarilly.  We  must 
find  her  something  in  the  way  of  employ- 
ment. The  atmosphere  of  a  theatre  isn't  the 
proper  one  for  a  child  of  that  age.  Do  you 
think  so?" 

"Theoretically,  no;  but  Amarilly  is  not 
impressionable  to  atmosphere  altogether. 
She  seems  a  hard-working,  staunch  little  soul, 

[28] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

and  all  that  relieves  the  sordidness  of  her 
life  and  lightens  the  dreariness  of  her  work 
is  the  'theayter,'  as  she  calls  it.  So  don't 
destroy  her  illusions,  John.  You'll  do  her 
more  harm  than  good." 

"Not  if  I  give  her  something  real  in  the 
place  of  what  you  rightly  term  her  illusions." 

'You  can't.  Sunday-school  would  not  sat- 
isfy a  broad-minded  little  proletarian  like 
Amarilly,  so  don't  preach  to  her." 

He  winced  perceptibly. 

"Do  I  preach  to  you,  Colette?  Is  that  how 
you  regard  me  —  as  a  prosy  preacher  who  - 

"No,  John.  Just  as  a  disturber  of  dreams 
-  that  is  all." 

"A  disturber  of  dreams?"  he  repeated 
wistfully.  "It  is  you,  Colette,  who  are  a 
disturber  of  dreams.  If  you  would  only  let 
my  dreams  become  realities!" 

"Then,  to  be  paradoxical,  your  realities 
might  change  back  to  dreams,  or  even  night- 
mares. Returning  to  soapsuds  and  Amarilly 
Jenkins,  will  you  go  there  with  me  to-morrow 
and  make  arrangements  with  Mrs.  Jenkins 
for  the  laundry  work?  " 

"Indeed  I  will,  Colette,  and - 

"Don't  look  so  serious,  John.  Until  that 
[29] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

dreadful  evening,  the  last  time  you  called, 
you  always  left  your  pulpit  punctilio  behind 
you  when  you  came  here." 

"Colette!"  he  began  in  protest. 

But  she  perversely  refused  to  fall  in  with 
his  serious  vein.  Chattering  gayly  yet  half- 
defiantly,  on  her  face  the  while  a  baffling 
smile,  partly  tender,  partly  amused,  and 
wholly  coquettish  -  -  the  smile  that  maddened 
and  yet  entranced  him  —  she  brought  the 
mask  of  reserve  to  his  face  and  manner.  At 
such  times  he  never  succeeded  in  remembering 
that  she  was  but  little  more  than  a  child, 
heart-free,  capricious,  and  wilful.  Despair- 
ing of  changing  her  mood  to  the  serious  one 
that  he  loved  yet  so  seldom  evoked,  he  arose 
and  bade  her  good-night. 

When  he  was  in  the  hall  she  softly  called 
him  back,  meeting  him  with  a  half-penitent 
look  in  her  eyes,  which  had  suddenly  become 
gazelle-like. 

'You  may  preach  to  me  again  some  time, 
John.  There  are  moments  when  I  believe 
I  like  it,  because  no  other  man  dares  to  do  it." 

"Dares?"  he  queried  with  a  smile. 

:'Yes;  dares.  They  all  fear  to  offend. 
And  you,  John,  you  fear  nothing!" 

[30] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  AT  .LEY 

"Yes,  I  do,"  he  answered  gravely,  as  he 
looked  down  upon  her.  ''There  is  one  thing 
I  fear  that  makes  me  tremble,  Colette." 

But  her  mood  had  again  changed,  and  with 
a  mischievous,  elusive  smile  she  bade  him  go. 
Inert  and  musing,  he  wandered  at  random 
through  the  lights  and  shadows  of  the  city 
streets,  with  a  wistful  look  in  his  eyes  and 
just  the  shadow  of  a  pang  in  his  heart. 

"  She  is  very  young,"  he  said  condoningly , 
answering  an  accusing  thought.  "She  has 
been  a  little  spoiled,  naturally.  She  has  seen 
life  only  from  the  side  that  amuses  and  enter- 
tains. Some  day,  when  she  realizes,  as  it 
comes  to  us  all  to  do,  that  care  and  sorrow 
bring  their  own  sustaining  power,  she  will 
not  dally  among  the  petty  things  of  life; 
the  wilful  waywardness  will  turn  to  winning 
womanliness." 


[31] 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  next  afternoon  when  Amarilly  came 
home  from  the  theatre,  her  mother 
met  her  with  another  burst  of  information. 

"Miss  King  and  the  preacher  was  here. 
He's  agoin'  to  give  us  all  the  church  sur- 
pluses to  wash  and  his  house-wash,  too. 
Flamingus  is  to  go  fer  them  to  the  rectry 
to-night,  and  you're  to  go  to  Miss  King's 
and  get  the  waists  she  has  to  be  did  up.  She 
left  two  car  tickets  fer  you.' 

"We  air  jest  astubbin'  our  toes  on  luck," 
gasped  Amarilly. 

'The  fust  pay  from  the  new  washin's 
shall  go  fer  a  new  hat  and  dress  fer  you, 
Amarilly.  It's  acomin'  to  you  all  right. 
'Twas  you  as  got  this  work  fer  us." 

"No!"  was  the  emphatic  reply.  "We'll 
git  some  more  cheers,  knives,  spoons,  plates, 
cups,  and  two  more  leaves  fer  the  table, 
so's  the  chillern  kin  all  set  to  table  to  onct." 

'That'll  be  a  hull  lot  more  convenient,'' 
admitted  Mrs.  Jenkins  hopefully.  "Co  spills 
things  so,  and  the  boys  quarrel  when  you  and 

[32] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

the  Boarder  ain't  here  to  keep  peace.  It 
was  jest  orful  this  noon.  You  wasn't  here 
and  the  Boarder  kerried  his  dinner.  'Cause 
Flam  put  too  much  vinegar  on  Milt's  beans, 
Milt  poured  it  down  Flam's  neck,  and  when 
I  sent  him  away  from  the  table  he  sassed 
me." 

"Jiminy!"  protested  Amarilly  indignantly. 
"I'd  make  Milt  go  without  his  supper  to- 
night." 

'Tain't  his  stummick  I'm  agoin'  to  pun- 
ish," said  Mrs.  Jenkins  sarcastically.  "I've 
laid  by  a  wilier  switch  that'll  feel  sharper 
than  the  vinegar  he  wasted.  You'd  better 
go  to  Miss  King's  right  away  —  and,  Amarilly, 
mind  you  ride  both  ways.  It's  too  far  to 
walk.  Don't  you  sell  the  tickets!" 

This  last  prohibitory  remark  was  made  in 
remembrance  of  Amarilly 's  commercial  in- 
stincts. 

When  Amarilly  was  admitted  to  the  base- 
ment of  her  young  benefactress's  home  a 
trimly-capped  little  maid  took  her  to  Colette's 
boudoir. 

"Sit  down  and  talk  to  me,  Amarilly.  I 
want  to  hear  more  about  Lord  Algernon  and 
Mr.  Vedder  and  Pete.  Here's  a  box  of  choco- 

[33] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

late  creams  that  must  be  eaten  while  they  are 
fresh." 

Amarilly  was  slightly  awed  at  first  by  the 
luxurious  appointments  of  the  room,  but  she 
soon  recovered  her  ease  and  devoured  the 
novel  sweets  with  appreciative  avidity.  Then 
she  proved  herself  a  fascinating  raconteur  of 
the  annals  of  a  world  unknown  to  Colette. 
It  was  a  matter  of  course  to  Amarilly  that 
the  leading  lady  should  be  supporting  an  in- 
valid sister;  that  the  languid  Lord  Algernon 
should  be  sending  his  savings  to  his  old 
mother  who  lived  in  the  country;  that  the 
understudy  should  sew  industriously  through 
rehearsals  and  behind  the  scenes  between 
parts  for  her  two  little  fatherless  girls;  that 
Pete  Noyes  should  "bank"  to  buy  a  wheeled 
chair  for  his  rheumatic  father;  that  the 
villain  was  "lay in'  by"  for  his  parents  to 
come  from  the  Fatherland,  and  that  the 
company  should  all  chip  in  to  send  the 
property  woman's  sick  child  to  the  seashore. 
But  to  Colette  the  homely  little  stories  were 
vignettes  of  another  side  of  life. 

"Have  you  been  to  the  rectory  yet,  Ama- 
rilly?" she  asked  presently,  when  Amarilly 's 
memories  of  stage  life  lagged. 

[34] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

'"No;  Flammy  has  went  fer  Mr.  St.  Mark's 
things." 

"Mr.  St.  Mark's!" 

Colette  laughed  delightedly. 

"I  thought  you  told  me  that  the  preacher's 
name  was  Mr.  St.  Marks.  You  said  mebby 
you  could  git  his  wash  fer  us." 

"No,  Amarilly.  I  did  not  mean  that.  St. 
Mark's  is  the  name  of  the  church  where  he 
officiates.  He  could  never  under  any  condi- 
tions be  a  St.  Mark." 

"Wat's  his  name?" 

"St.  John,  of  course.  And  most  people 
call  him  a  rector,  but  really  your  name  suits 
him  best.  He  does  preach  —  sometimes  —  to 
me." 

At  the  end  of  the  week  Colette  again  sent 
for  John --to  call  "on  laundry  business"  — 
her  little  note  read. 

"I  couldn't  wait,"  she  said  when  he  came, 
"to  learn  how  Mrs.  Jenkins  pleased  you.  My 
waists  were  most  beautifully  laundered.  She 
is  certainly  a  Madonna  of  the  Tubs." 

'You  have  indeed  secured  a  treasure  for 
me,  Colette.  The  linen  is  immaculate,  and 
she  shall  have  the  laundering  of  it  regularly." 

"I   am  so  glad!"    exclaimed  Colette  fer- 
[35] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

vently.  "They  need  it  so  much,  and  they 
are  so  anxious  to  please.  Amarilly  was  so 
apprehensive  - 

John's  face  had  become  radiant. 

"It  is  sweet  in  you  to  be  interested, 
Colette,  and  - 

"I  wish  you  would  see  her,"  said  Colette, 
ignoring  his  commendatory  words  and  voice. 
"She's  an  odd  little  character.  I  invited  her 
to  luncheon  the  other  day,  and  the  courses 
and  silver  never  disturbed  her  apparently. 
She  watched  me  closely,  however,  and  fol- 
lowed my  moves  as  precisely  as  a  second 
oarsman.  By  the  way,  she  called  you  St. 
Mark.  I  know  some  people  consider  you 
and  St.  Mark's  as  synonymous,  but  I  ex- 
plained the  difference.  She  tells  me  absorb- 
ingly interesting  stories  of  theatre  lif e - 
the  life  behind  the  scenes.  You  see  the 
*  scent  of  the  roses,'  John!" 

The  shadow  fell  again,  but  he  made  no 
response. 

The  following  Monday  the  young  minister 
chanced  to  be  in  the  culinary  precincts  of 
the  rectory  when  Amarilly  called  for  the 
laundry,  none  of  the  boys  having  been  avail- 
able for  the  service. 

[36] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

An  instant  gleam  of  recognition  came  into 
his  kindly  eyes. 

"You  must  be  Amarilly  Jenkins.  I  have 
heard  very  good  accounts  of  you  —  that  you 
are  industrious  and  a  great  help  to  your 
mother." 

Amarilly  looked  at  him  shrewdly. 

"She  told  you,"  she  affirmed  positively. 

There  was  but  one  "she"  in  the  world  of 
these  two,  and  John  Meredith  naturally 
comprehended. 

"She's  orful  good  to  us,"  continued  Ama- 
rilly, "and  it  was  through  her,  Mr.  St.  John, 
that  we  got  the  surpluses." 

"It  was,  indeed,  Amarilly;  but  my  name 
is  not  St.  John.  It  is  John  Meredith." 

"She  was  jest  kiddin'  me,  then!"  de- 
duced Amarilly  appreciatively.  "I  thought 
at  fust  as  how  yer  name  was  St.  Mark,  and 
she  said  you  could  never  be  a  St.  Mark,  that 
you  was  St.  John.  She  likes  a  joke.  Mr. 
Reeves-Eggleston  (he's  playin'  the  part  of 
the  jilted  man  in  the  new  play  this  week) 
says  it's  either  folks  as  never  hez  hed  their 
troubles  or  them  as  hez  hed  more'n  their 
share  what  laughs  at  everything,  only,  he 
says,  it's  diffrent  kinds  of  laughs." 

[37] 


^AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

The  reference  to  the  play  reminded  John 
of  a  duty  to  perform. 

"Miss  King  told  me,  Amarilly,  that  you 
want  to  go  on  the  stage  when  you  grow  up." 

"I  did  plan  to  go  on,  but  she  said  when  I 
got  eddicated,  I  might  hear  of  other  things 
to  do  —  things  I'd  like  better.  So  mebby 
I'll  change  my  mind." 

A  beautiful  smile  lightened  John's  dark 
eyes. 

"She  was  right,  Amarilly.  There  are 
things  that  would  be  better  for  you  to  do, 
and  I  —  we  —  will  try  to  help  you  find  them." 

"Every  one  gits  the  stage  fever  some 
time,"  remarked  Amarilly  philosophically. 
"She  said  so.  She  said  she  hed  it  onct 
herself,  but  she  knew  now  that  there  was 
something  she  would  like  better." 

His  smile  grew  softer. 

"She  wouldn't  tell  me  what  it  was,"  con- 
tinued Amarilly  musingly.  Then  a  troubled 
look  came  into  her  eyes. 

"Mebby  I  shouldn't  tell  you  what  she 
says.  Flamingus  says  I  talk  too  much." 

"It  was  all  right  to  tell  me,  Amarilly,"  he 
replied  with  radiant  eyes,   "as  long  as  she 
said  nothing  personal." 
[38] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHE&-LINE  ALLEY 

Amarilly  looked  mystified. 

"I  mean,"  he  explained  gently,  "that 
she  said  nothing  of  me,  nothing  that  you 
should  not  repeat.  I  am  glad,  though,  to  see 
that  you  are  conscientious.  Miss  King  tells 
me  you  are  to  go  to  the  night-school.  Do 
you  attend  Sunday-school?  " 

Amarilly  looked  apologetic. 

"Not  reg'lar.  Thar's  a  meetin'-house 
down  near  us  that  we  go  to  sometimes. 
Flamingus  and  me  and  Gus  give  a  nickel 
apiece  towards  gittin'  a  malodeyon  fer  it, 
but  it  squeaks  orful.  'Tain't  much  like  the 
orchestry  to  the  theayter.  And  then  the 
preacher  he  whistles  every  time  he  says  a 
word  that  has  an  's'  in  it.  You'd  orter  hear 
him  say:  'Let  us  sing  the  seventy-seventh 
psalm.' ' 

At  the  succession  of  the  sibilant  sounds, 
John's  brown  eyes  twinkled  brightly,  and 
about  his  mouth  came  crinkly,  telltale  creases 
of  humor. 

"And  they  sing  such  lonesome  tunes," 
continued  Amarilly,  "slower  than  the  one 
the  old  cow  died  on.  I  was  tellin'  the  stage 
maniger  about  it,  and  he  said  they'd  orter 
git  a  man  to  run  the  meetin' -houses  that 

[39] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

understood  the  proper  settings.  Everything, 
he  says,  is  more'n  hah*  in  the  settin's." 

"Amarilly,"  was  the  earnest  response,  "will 
you  come  to  St.  Mark's  next  Sunday  to  the 
morning  service?  The  music  will  please 
you,  I  am  sure,  and  there  are  other  things  I 
should  like  to  have  you  hear." 

Amarilly  solemnly  accepted  this  invita- 
tion, and  then  went  home,  trundling  a  big 
cart  which  contained  the  surplices  and  the 
rectory  laundry. 

Colette's  remarks,  so  innocently  repeated 
to  him,  made  John  take  himself  to  task. 

"I  knew,"  he  thought  rapturously,  "that 
she  was  pure  gold  at  heart.  And  it  is  only 
her  sweet  willfulness  that  is  hiding  it  from 
me." 

That  evening  he  found  Colette  sitting 
before  an  open  fire  in  the  library,  her  slender 
little  feet  crossed  before  the  glowing  blaze. 
She  was  in  a  gentle,  musing  mood,  but  at 
his  entrance  she  instantly  rallied  to  her  old 
mirth-loving  spirit. 

"I  have  made  Amarilly 's  acquaintance," 
he  said.  "She  is  coming  to  church  next 
Sunday." 

"A  convert  already!  And  you  will  try  to 
[40] 


snatch  poor  Amarilly,  too,  from  her  foot- 
light  dreams?" 

"Colette,"  he  replied  firmly,  "you  can't 
play  a  part  with  me  any  longer.  You,  the 
real  Colette,  made  it  unnecessary  for  me  to 
remonstrate  with  Amarilly  on  her  choice  of 
professions.  She  is  wavering  because  of  your 
assurance  that  there  are  better  things  in  life 
for  her  to  engage  in." 

He  was  not  very  tall,  but  stood  straight 
and  stalwart,  with  the  air  of  one  born  to 
command.  At  times  he  seemed  to  tower 
above  all  others. 

She  regarded  him  with  an  admiring  look 
which  changed  to  wonder  at  what  she  read 
in  his  eyes.  In  a  flash  she  felt  the  strength 
and  depth  of  his  feeling,  but  her  searching 
scrutiny  caused  him  to  become  tongue-tied, 
and  he  assumed  the  self-conscious  mien  pecu- 
liar to  the  man  not  yet  assured  that  his  love 
is  returned.  Once  more  a  golden  moment 
slipped  away  with  elfish  elusiveness,  and 
Colette,  secure  in  her  supremacy,  resumed 
her  tantalizing  badinage. 


[41] 


AMARILLY.OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 


CHAPTER  V 

THE    Jenkins    family    was    immediately 
summoned  in  council  to  discuss  Ama- 
rilly's  invitation  to  attend  divine  service  at 
St.  Mark's. 

:'You  air  jest  more'n  hevin'  advantages," 
said  Mrs.  Jenkins  exultingly.  "Fust  the 
matinee,  then  the  Guild,  and  now  St.  Mark's 
is  open  to  you.  But  you'd  orter  hev  a  few 
fixin's  to  go  to  sech  a  grand  place,  Amarilly." 

Amarilly  shook  her  determined  little  head 
resolutely. 

"We  can't  afford  it,"  she  said  decisively. 
"I'd  stay  to  hum  afore  I'd  spend  anything 
on  extrys  now  when  we're  aketchin'  up  and 
layin'  by." 

:'Twould  be  good  bookkeepin'  fer  you  ter 
go,"  spoke  up  Flamingus.  ;'You  see  the 
preacher's  givin'  us  his  business,  and  we'd 
orter  return  the  favor  and  patrynize  his 
church.  You've  gotter  hustle  to  hold  trade 
arter  you  git  it  these  days.  It's  up  to  you 
ter  go,  Amarilly." 

[42] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

Mrs.  Jenkins  looked  proudly  at  her  eldest 
male  offspring. 

"I  declare,  Flamingus,  you've  got  a  real 
business  head  on  you  jest  like  your  pa  hed. 
He's  right,  Amarilly.  'Twouldn't  be  treatin' 
Mr.  Meredith  fair  not  ter  go,  and  it's  due 
him  that  you  go  right,  so  he  won't  be 
ashamed  of  you.  I'll  rig  you  up  some 
way." 

The  costuming  of  Amarilly  in  a  manner 
befitting  the  great  occasion  was  an  all- 
absorbing  affair  for  the  next  few  days. 
Finally,  by  the  combination  of  Mrs.  Jenkins's 
industry  and  Amarilly 's  ingenuity,  aided  by 
the  Boarder  and  the  boys,  an  elaborate  toilet 
was  devised  and  executed.  Milton  donated 
a  "shine"  to  a  pair  of  tan  shoes,  the  gift  of 
the  girl  "what  took  a  minor  part."  Mrs. 
Jenkins  looked  a  little  askance  at  the  "best 
skirt"  of  blue  which  had  shrunk  from  re- 
peated washings  to  a  near-knee  length,  but 
Amarilly  assured  her  that  it  was  not  as  short 
as  the  skirts  worn  by  the  ballet  girls.  She 
cut  up  two  old  blouses  and  fashioned  a  new, 
bi-colored  waist  bedizened  with  gilt  buttons. 
The  Boarder  presented  a  resplendent  buckle, 
and  Flamingus  provided  a  gawdy  hair-ribbon. 

[43] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

The  hat  was  the  chief  difficulty.  On  week 
days  she  wore  none,  but  of  course  St.  Mark's 
demanded  a  headgear  of  some  kind,  and  at 
last  Mrs.  Jenkins  triumphantly  produced  one 
of  Tarn  o'  Shanter  shape  manufactured  from 
a  lamp  mat  and  adorned  with  some  roses 
bestowed  by  the  leading  lady.  The  belliger- 
ent locks  of  the  little  scrub-girl  refused  to 
respond  to  advances  from  curling  iron  or 
papers,  but  one  of  the  neighbors  whose  hair 
was  a  second  cousin  in  hue  to  Amarilly's 
amber  tresses,  loaned  some  frizzes,  which 
were  sewed  to  the  brim  of  the  new  hat.  The 
problem  of  hand  covering  was  solved  by 
Mr.  Vedder,  as  a  pair  of  orange-tinted  gloves 
had  been  turned  in  at  the  box-office  by  an 
usher,  and  had  remained  unclaimed.  They 
proved  a  perfect  fit,  and  were  the  supreme 
triumph  of  the  bizarre  costume. 

Not  even  Solomon  in  all  his  glory  was 
arrayed  in  splendor  greater  than  that  dis- 
played by  Amarilly  when  she  set  forth  on 
Sunday  morning  for  St.  Mark's.  Prompt- 
ness was  ever  Amarilly's  chief  characteristic, 
and  she  arrived  long  in  advance  of  the 
ushers.  This  gave  her  an  opportunity  to 
sample  several  pews  before  finally  selecting 

[44] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

one  whose  usual  occupants,  fortunately,  were 
out  of  the  city. 

The  vastness  and  stillness  of  the  edifice, 
disturbed  now  and  then  by  silken  rustle  and 
soft-shod  foot  were  bewildering  to  Amarilly. 
She  experienced  a  slight  depression  until  the 
vibrating  tones  of  the  organ  fell  softly  upon 
the  air.  The  harmony  grew  more  subdued, 
ceased,  and  was  succeeded  by  another  mo- 
ment of  solemn  silence.  Then  a  procession 
of  white-robed  choristers  came  down  the 
aisle,  their  well-trained  voices  ringing  out  in 
carolling  cadence. 

"Them's  the  chorus,"  thought  Amarilly. 

Entranced,  she  listened  to  the  service, 
sitting  upright  and  very  still.  The  spiritual 
significance  of  the  music,  the  massing  of 
foliage  and  flowers  in  the  chancel,  the  white 
altars  with  their  many  lighted  candles,  were 
very  impressive  to  the  little  wide-eyed  wor- 
shipper. 

"Their  settin's  is  all  right,"  she  said  to 
herself  critically,  "and  it  ain't  like  the 
theayter.  It's  - 

A  sudden  revealing  light  penetrated  the 
shadows  of  her  little  being. 

"This  is  the  real  thing!"  she  acknowledged. 
[45] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

There  was  only  one  disappointment  to  mar 
the  perfection.  She  felt  quite  aggrieved  that 
Mr.  Meredith  —  or  Mr.  St.  John  as  she  still 
called  him  in  her  thoughts  —  did  not  "come 
on"  in  the  first  act. 

"Mebby  he  don't  hev  the  leadin'  part 
to-day,"  she  thought  disappointedly,  as  a 
callow  youth,  whose  hair  was  pompadoured 
and  whose  chin  receded,  began  to  read  the 
lessons  for  the  day.  Amarilly  was  kept  in 
action  by  her  effort  to  follow  the  lead  of  the 
man  in  front  of  her. 

"It's  hard  to  know  jest  when  to  set  or 
stand  or  pray,  but  it  keeps  things  from 
draggin',"  she  thought,  "and  thar's  no  chanct 
to  git  sleepy.  It  keeps  me  jest  on  the  hump 
without  no  rayhearsal  fer  all  this  scene 
shiftin'." 

Her  little  heart  quickened  in  glad  relief 
when  the  erect  form  of  John  Meredith 
ascended  the  pulpit  to  deliver  the  sermon. 

"That  other  one  was  jest  the  understudy," 
she  concluded. 

The  sermon,  strong,  simple,  and  sweet  like 
John  himself,  was  delivered  in  a  rich,  modu- 
lated voice  whose  little  underlying  note  of 
appeal  found  entrance  to  many  a  hard-shell 

[46] 


heart.  The  theology  was  not  too  deep  for 
the  attentive  little  scrubber  to  comprehend, 
and  she  was  filled  with  a  longing  to  be  good 

-  very  good.  She  made  ardent  resolutions 
not  to  "jaw"  the  boys  so  much,  and  to  be 
more  gentle  with  Iry  and  Co.  Her  conscience 
kept  on  prodding  until  she  censured  herself 
for  not  mopping  the  corners  at  the  theatre 
more  thoroughly. 

At  the  conclusion  of  the  sermon  the  rector 
with  a  slight  tremor  in  his  mellifluous  voice 
pronounced  the  benediction.  Amarilly's  eyes 
shone  with  a  light  that  Lord  Algernon's 
most  eloquent  passages  could  never  have 
inspired. 

The  organ  again  gave  forth  its  rich  tones, 
and  a  young,  fair-haired  boy  with  the  face  of 
a  devotee  arose  and  turned  toward  the  con- 
gregation, his  face  uplifted  to  the  oaken 
rafters.  A  flood  of  sunshine  streamed 
through  the  painted  window  and  fell  in  long 
slanting  rays  upon  the  spiritual  face.  The 
exquisite  voice  rose  and  fell  in  silvery  cadence, 
the  soft  notes  fluting  out  through  the  vast 
space  and  reaching  straight  to  Amarilly's 
heart  which  was  beating  in  unison  to  the 
music. 

[47] 


"Oh/*  she  thought  wistfully,  "if  Pete 
Noyes  was  only  like  him!" 

She  responded  to  the  offertory  with  a 
penny,  which  lay  solitary  and  outlawed  on 
the  edge  of  a  contribution  plate  filled  with 
envelopes  and  bank  bills.  The  isolated  coin 
caught  the  eye  of  the  young  rector  as  he 
received  the  offerings,  and  his  gaze  wandered 
wonderingly  over  his  fashionable  congrega- 
tion. It  finally  rested  upon  the  small,  eager- 
eyed  face  of  his  washerwoman's  daughter,  and 
a  look  of  angelic  sweetness  came  into  his 
brown  eyes  with  the  thought:  "Even  the 
least  of  these ! " 

Colette,  statuesque  and  sublime,  caught 
the  flash  of  radiance  that  illumined  the  face 
of  her  pastor,  and  her  heart-strings  responded 
with  a  little  thrill. 

There  was  another  fervent  prayer  in  low, 
pleading  tones,  after  which  followed  the 
recessional,  the  choir-boys  chanting  their 
solemn  measures. 

Amarilly  in  passing  out  saw  John,  clad  in 
a  long,  tight-fitting  black  garment,  standing 
at  the  church  door. 

"He's  got  another  costume  fer  the  after- 
piece," she  thought  admiringly.  "He  must 

[48] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

be  a  lightning  change  artist  like  the  one 
down  to  the  vawdyveel  that  Pete  was  tellin' 
of!" 

Then  two  wonderful,  heart-throbbing  things 
happened.  John  took  Amarilly's  saffron-clad 
hand  in  his  and  told  her  in  earnest,  convinc- 
ing tones  how  glad  he  was  that  she  had  come, 
and  that  he  should  look  for  her  every 
Sunday. 

"He  held  up  the  hull  p'rade  fer  me!"  she 
thought  exultingly. 

As  he  was  speaking  to  her  his  gaze  wan- 
dered away  for  a  second;  in  that  infinitesi- 
mal space  of  time  there  came  into  his  eyes  a 
dazzling  flash  of  light  that  was  like  a  revela- 
tion to  the  sharp-eyed  little  girl,  who,  follow- 
ing the  direction  of  his  glance,  beheld  Colette. 
Then  came  the  second  triumph.  Colette, 
smiling,  shook  hands  with  her  and  praised 
her  attire. 

"Did  you  like  the  sendee,  Amarilly?"  she 
whispered.  "Was  it  like  the  theatre?" 

"It  was  diffrent,"  said  Amarilly  impres- 
sively. "I  think  it's  what  heaven  is!" 

"And  did  you  like  the  sermon  St.  John 
preached?" 

Amarilly's  lips  quivered. 
[49] 


"I  liked  it  so  much,  I  liked  him  so  much, 
I'd  ruther  not  talk  about  it." 

Colette  stooped  and  kissed  the  freckled 
little  face,  to  the  utter  astonishment  of  those 
standing  near  and  to  the  complete  felicity  of 
John  Meredith,  who  was  a  witness  of  the 
little  scene  though  he  did  not  hear  the  conver- 
sation. 

Amarilly  walked  homeward,  her  uplifted 
face  radiant  with  happiness. 

"The  flowers,  the  lights,  oh,  't  was  great!" 
she  thought.  "Bud  could  sing  like  that  if 
he  was  learnt.  He  couldn't  look  like  that 
surplused  boy,  though.  He  sorter  made  me 
think  of  Little  Eva  in  the  play  they  give 
down  to  Milt's  school.  I  wish  Bud's  hair 
was  yaller  and  curly  instead  of  black  and 
straight!" 

Amarilly's  reminiscences  next  carried  her 
to  the  look  she  had  seen  in  the  rector's  eyes 
when  he  beheld  Colette  coming  out  of  the 
church. 

"It  was  the  look  Lord  Algernon  tried  to 
give  Lady  Cecul,"  she  thought,  "only  he 
couldn't  do  it,  'cause  it  wasn't  in  him  to  give. 
And  it  couldn't  never  be  in  him  the  same  as 
't  is  in  Mr.  St.  John  and  Miss  King.  It 

[50] 


ain't  in  her  yet  to  see  what  was  in  his  eyes. 
Some  day  when  she  gits  more  feelin's,  mebby 
't  will  be,  though." 

When  Amarilly  had  faithfully  pictured  the 
service  to  the  household,  Bud's  anaemic  face 
grew  eager. 

"Take  me  with  yer,  Amarilly,  next  time, 
won't  yer?  "  he  pleaded. 

"It's  too  fer.  You  couldn't  walk,  Buddy," 
she  answered,  "and  we  can't  afford  car-fare 
fer  two  both  ways." 

"I'll  take  him  to-night,"  promised  the 
Boarder.  "We'll  ride  both  ways,  so  fur  as 
we  kin.  I'd  like  to  hear  a  sermon  now  and 
then,  especially  by  a  young  preacher." 

The  little  family  stayed  up  that  night 
until  the  return  of  Bud  and  the  Boarder  who 
were  vociferous  in  approval  of  the  service. 

"It  ain't  much  like  our  meetin'-house," 
said  Bud.  "It  was  het  and  lit.  And  the 
way  that  orgin  let  out!  Say,  Amarilly,  thar 
wasn't  no  man  in  sight  to  play  it!  I  s'pose 
they've  got  one  of  them  things  like  a  pianner- 
player.  Them  surplused  boys  sung  fine!" 

"He  give  us  a  fine  talk,"  reported  the 
Boarder.  "I've  allers  thought  if  a  man 
paid  a  hundred  cents  on  the  dollar,  't  was 
[51] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

all  that  was  expected  of  him.  But  I  believe 
it's  a  good  idee  to  go  to  church  and  keep 
your  conscience  jogged  up  so  it  won't  rust. 
I'll  go  every  Sunday,  mebby,  and  take  Bud 
so  he  kin  larn  them  tunes." 

"I  never  go  to  no  shows  nor  nuthin'!" 
wailed  Cory. 

"I'll  take  you  next  time,"  soothed  Ama- 
rilly.  "I  kin  work  you'se  off  on  the  kin- 
ductor  as  under  age,  I  guess,  if  you'll  crouch 
down." 


[52] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 


CHAPTER  VI 

MONDAY'S  mops  and  pails  broke  in 
upon  the  spell  of  Amarilly's  spiritual 
enchantment  to  some  extent,  but  remem- 
brance of  the  scenic  effects  lingered  and  was 
refreshed  by  the  clothes-line  of  vestal  garb 
which  manifested  the  family  prosperity,  and 
heralded  to  the  neighborhood  that  the  Jen- 
kins's star  wras  in  the  ascendant. 

"Them  Jenkinses,"  said  Mrs.  Hudgers, 
who  lived  next  door,  "is  orful  stuck  up  sence 
they  got  the  sudsin'  of  them  surpluses." 

This  animadversion  was  soon  conveyed  to 
Amarilly,  who  instantly  and  freely  forgave 
the  critic. 

"She's  old  and  rheumatic,"  argued  the 
little  girl.  "She  can't  git  to  go  nowhars, 
and  folks  that  is  shut  in  too  long  spiles,  jest 
like  canned  goods.  Besides,  her  clock  has 
stopped.  Nobody  can't  go  on  without  no 
clock." 

Out  of  pity  for  the  old  woman's  sequestered 
life,  Amarilly  was  wont  to  relate  to  her  all 
the  current  events,  and  it  was  through  the 

[53] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

child's  keen,  young  optics  that  Mrs.  Hud- 
gers  saw  life.  An  eloquent  and  vivid  de- 
scription of  St.  Mark's  service  was  eagerly 
related. 

"I  allers  thought  I'd  like  to  see  them 
Episcopals,"  she  remarked  regretfully.  "Ef 
church  air  wa'n't  so  bad  fer  my  rheumatiz, 
I'd  pay  car-fare  jest  to  see  it  onct.  I  was 
brung  up  Methodist  though." 

This  desire  suggested  to  Amarilly's  fertile 
little  brain  a  way  to  make  a  contribution  to 
John  Meredith's  pet  missionary  scheme,  whose 
merits  he  had  so  ardently  expounded  from 
the  pulpit. 

"I'll  hev  a  sacrud  concert  like  the  one  he 
said  they  was  goin'  to  hev  to  the  church," 
she  decided. 

She  was  fully  aware  of  the  sensation 
created  by  the  Thursday  clothes-line  of  sur- 
plices, and  she  resolved  to  profit  thereby 
while  the  garments  were  still  a  novelty. 
Consequently  the  neighborhood  was  notified 
that  a  sacred  concert  by  a  "surplused  choir" 
composed  of  members  of  the  Jenkins  house- 
hold, assisted  by  a  few  of  their  schoolmates, 
would  be  given  a  week  from  Wednesday 
night.  This  particular  night  was  chosen  for 

[54] 


the  reason  that  the  church  washing  was  put 
to  soak  late  on  a  Wednesday. 

There  was  a  short,  sharp  conflict  in  Ama- 
rilly's  conscience  before  she  convinced  herself 
it  would  not  be  wrong  to  allow  the  impromptu 
choir  to  don  the  surplices  of  St.  Mark's. 

"  They  wouldn't  spile  'em  jest  awearin' 
'em  onct,"  she  argued  sharply,  for  Amarilly 
always  "sassed  back"  with  spirit  to  her 
moral  accuser.  'Tain't  as  if  they  wa'n't 
agoin'  into  the  wash  as  soon  as  they  take 
'em  off.  Besides,"  as  a  triumphant  clincher, 
"think  of  the  cause!" 

Amarilly  had  heard  the  Boarder  and  a 
young  socialist  exchanging  views,  and  she 
had  caught  this  slogan,  which  was  a  tempt- 
ing phrase  and  adequate  to  whitewash  many 
a  doubtful  act.  It  proved  effectual  in  silenc- 
ing the  conscience  which  Amarilly  slipped 
back  into  its  case  and  fastened  securely. 

She  held  nightly  rehearsals  for  the  pro- 
posed entertainment.  After  the  first  the 
novelty  was  exhausted,  and  on  the  next 
night  there  was  a  falling  off  in  attendance,  so 
the  young  director  diplomatically  resorted 
to  the  use  of  decoy  ducks  in  the  shape  of  a 
pan  of  popcorn,  a  candy  pull,  and  an  apple 

[55] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

roast.  By  such  inducements  she  whipped 
her  chorus  into  line,  ably  assisted  by  Bud, 
who  had  profited  by  his  attendance  at  St. 
Mark's. 

The  Jenkins  dwelling  was  singularly  well 
adapted  for  a  public  performance,  as,  to  use 
Mrs.  Wint's  phraseology,  "it  had  no  in- 
sides."  The  rooms  were  partitioned  off  by 
means  of  curtains  on  strings.  These  were 
taken  down  on  the  night  of  the  concert.  So 
the  "settin'-room,  the  "bedroom  off,"  and 
the  kitchen  became  one.  Seats  were  im- 
provised by  means  of  boards  stretched  across 
inverted  washtubs. 

At  seven  o'clock  on  the  night  set  for  the 
concert  the  audience  was  solemnly  ushered 
in  by  the  Boarder.  No  signs  of  the  per- 
formers were  visible,  but  sounds  of  suppressed 
excitement  issued  from  the  woodshed,  which 
had  been  converted  into  a  vestry. 

Presently  the  choir,  chanting  a  hymn, 
made  an  impressive  and  effective  entrance. 
To  Amarilly's  consternation  this  evoked  an 
applause,  which  jarred  on  her  sense  of 
propriety. 

14  This  ain't  no  show,  and  it  ain't  no  time 
to  clap,"  she  explained  to  the  Boarder,  who 

[56] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

cautioned  the  congregation  against  further 
demonstration. 

Flamingus  read  a  psalm  hi  a  sing-song, 
resonant  voice,  and  then  Amarilly  announced 
a  hymn,  cordially  inviting  the  neighbors  to 
"jine  in."  The  response  was  lusty-lunged, 
and  there  was  a  unanimous  request  for 
another  tune.  After  Amarilly  had  explained 
the  use  to  which  the  collection  was  to  be  put, 
Gus  passed  a  pie  tin,  while  an  offertory  solo 
was  rendered  by  Bud  in  sweet,  trebled 
tones. 

The  sacred  concert  was  pronounced  a 
great  success  by  the  audience,  who  promptly 
dispersed  at  its  close.  While  the  Boarder 
was  shifting  the  curtains  to  their  former 
positions,  and  Mrs.  Jenkins  and  Amarilly 
were  busily  engaged  in  divesting  the  choir 
of  their  costumes,  the  front  door  opened  and 
disclosed  a  vision  of  loveliness  in  the  form 
of  Colette. 

"I  knocked,"  she  explained  apologetically 
to  the  Boarder,  "but  no  one  heard  me.  Are 
the  family  all  away?" 

"They  are  in  the  woodshed.  Walk  right 
out,"  he  urged  hospitably. 

Colette  stepped  to  the  door  and,  on  open- 
[57] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

ing   it,   gazed   in   bewilderment   at  the   dis- 
robing choir. 

"These  are  not  St.  Mark's  choir-boys,  are 
they?"  she  asked  wonderingly. 

Mrs.  Jenkins  felt  herself  growing  weak- 
kneed.  She  looked  apprehensively  at  Ama- 
rilly,  who  stepped  bravely  to  the  front  with 
the  air  of  one  who  feels  that  the  end  justifies 
the  means. 

"It  was  fer  him  —  fer  Mr.  St.  John  I  done 
it,"  she  began  in  explanation,  and  then  she 
proceeded  to  relate  the  particulars  of  her 
scheme  and  its  accomplishment. 

She  had  but  just  finished  this  narrative 
when  suddenly  in  the  line  of  her  vision  came 
the  form  of  the  young  rector  himself.  He 
had  been  ushered  out  by  the  Boarder,  who 
was  still  actively  engaged  in  "redding 
up." 

"I  came  to  call  upon  you,  for  I  consider 
you  one  of  my  parishioners  now,"  he  said  to 
Amarilly,  his  face  flushing  at  the  unexpected 
encounter  with  Colette. 

Amarilly  breathed  a  devout  prayer  of 
thankfulness  that  the  last  surplice  had  been 
removed  and  was  now  being  put  to  soak  by 
her  mother. 

[58] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

Colette's  eyes  were  dancing  with  the  de- 
light of  mischief-making  as  she  directed,  in 
soft  but  mirthful  tones: 

"Tell  Mr.  St.  John  about  your  choir  and 
concert." 

Amarilly's  eyes  lowered  in  consternation. 
She  was  in  great  awe  of  this  young  man  whose 
square  chin  was  in  such  extreme  contradic- 
tion to  his  softly  luminous  eyes,  and  she 
began  to  feel  less  fortified  by  the  reminder 
of  the  "cause." 

"I'd  ruther  not,"  she  faltered. 

"Then  don't,  Amarilly,"  he  said  gently. 

"Mebby  that's  why  I'd  orter,"  she  ac- 
knowledged, lifting  serious  eyes  to  his.  "You 
said  that  Sunday  that  we  wa'n't  to  turn  out 
of  the  way  fer  hard  things." 

"I  don't  want  it  to  be  hard  for  you  to 
tell  me  anything,  Amarilly,"  he  said  re- 
assuringly. "Suppose  you  show  me  that 
you  trust  me  by  telling  me  about  your 
concert." 

So  once  more  Amarilly  gave  a  recital  of 
her  plan  for  raising  money  for  the  mission, 
and  of  its  successful  fulfilment.  John  lis- 
tened with  varying  emotions,  struggling  he- 
roically to  maintain  his  gravity  as  he  heard 

[59] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

of  the  realization  of  the  long-cherished,  long- 
deferred  dream  of  Mrs.  Hudgers. 

"And  we  took  in  thirty-seven  cents,"  she 
said  in  breathless  excitement,  as  she  handed 
him  the  contents  of  the  pie  tin. 

"Amarilly,"  he  replied  fervently,  with  the 
look  that  Colette  was  learning  to  love,  "you 
did  just  right  to  use  the  surplices,  and  this 
contribution  means  more  to  me  than  any  I 
have  received.  It  was  a  sweet  and  generous 
thought  that  prompted  your  concert." 

Amarilly 's  little  heart  glowed  with  pride 
at  this  acknowledgment. 

At  that  moment  came  Bud,  singing  a 
snatch  of  his  solo. 

"Is  this  the  little  brother  that  sang  the 
offertory?" 

"Yes;  that's  him  —  Bud." 

"Bud,  will  you  sing  it  again  for  me,  now?" 

"Sure  thing!"  said  the  atom  of  a  boy, 
promptly  mounting  a  soap  box. 

He  threw  back  a  mop  of  thick  black  hair, 
rolled  his  eyes  ceilingward,  and  let  his  sweet, 
clear  voice  have  full  sway. 

"Oh,  Bud,  you  darling!  Why  didn't  you 
tell  me  he  could  sing  like  that,  Amarilly?" 
cried  Colette  at  the  close  of  the  song. 

[60] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

"We  must  have  him  in  St.  Mark's  choir," 
declared  Mr.  Meredith.  :'You  may  bring 
him  to  the  rectory  to-morrow,  Amarilly,  and 
I  will  have  the  choirmaster  try  his  voice. 
Besides  receiving  instruction  and  practice 
every  week,  he  will  be  paid  for  his  singing." 

Money  for  Bud's  voice!  So  much  pros- 
perity was  scarcely  believable. 

"Fust  the  Guild  school,  Miss  King's 
washing,  the  surpluses,  and  now  Bud!" 
thought  Amarilly  exuberantly.  "Next  thing 
I  know,  I'll  be  on  the  stage." 

"I  must  go,"  said  Colette  presently.  "My 
car  is  just  around  the  corner  on  the  next 
street.  John,  will  you  ride  uptown  with  me?  " 

He  accepted  the  invitation  with  alacrity. 
Colette's  sidelong  glance  noted  a  certain 
masterful  look  about  his  chin,  and  there  was 
a  warning,  metallic  ring  in  his  voice  that 
denoted  a  determination  to  overcome  all 
obstacles  and  triumph  by  sheer  force  of  will. 
She  was  not  ready  to  listen  to  him  yet,  and, 
a  ready  evader  of  issues,  chatted  incessantly 
on  the  way  to  the  car.  He  waited  in  grim 
patience,  biding  his  time.  As  they  neared 
the  turn  in  the  alley,  she  played  her  reserve 
card. 

[61] 


AMARILLY*OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

"Henry  didn't  think  it  prudent  to  bring 
the  big  car  into  the  Jenkins's  cul-de-sac,  so 
he  waited  in  the  next  street.  I  expect 
father  will  be  there  by  this  time.  We 
dropped  him  at  a  factory  near  by,  where  he 
was  to  speak  to  some  United  Workmen." 

Colette  smiled  at  the  drooping  of  John's 
features  as  he  beheld  her  father  ensconced 
in  the  tonneau. 

"Oh,  John!  I  am  glad  you  were  here  to 
protect  my  little  girl  through  these  byways. 
I  was  just  on  the  point  of  looking  her  up 
myself." 

When  the  car  stopped  at  the  rectory  and 
Colette  bade  John  good-night,  the  resolute, 
forward  thrust  was  still  prominent  in  his 
chin. 

He  went  straight  to  his  study  and  wrote 
an  ardent  avowal  of  his  love.  Then  he 
sealed  the  letter  and  dispatched  it  by  special 
messenger.  There  would  be  no  more  sus- 
pense, he  thought,  for  she  would  have  to 
respond  by  a  direct  affirmation  or  negation. 


[62] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 


CHAPTER  VII 

IN  the  tide  of  the  Jenkins's  prosperity 
there  came  the  inevitable  ebb.  On  the 
fateful  Friday  morning  succeeding  the  con- 
cert, Mrs.  Hudgers,  looking  from  her  window, 
saw  a  little  group  of  children  with  books  under 
their  arms  returning  from  school.  Having 
no  timepiece,  she  was  accustomed  to  depend 
on  the  passing  to  and  fro  of  the  children  for 
guidance  as  to  the  performance  of  her  house- 
hold affairs. 

"My  sakes,  but  twelve  o'clock  come  quick 
to-day,"  she  thought,  as  she  kindled  the  fire 
and  set  the  kettle  over  it  in  preparation  of 
her  midday  meal. 

A  neighbor  dropping  in  viewed  these  pro- 
ceedings with  surprise. 

"Why,  Mrs.  Hudgers,  ain't  you  et  yer 
breakfast  yet?" 

"Of  course  I  hev.  I'm  puttin'  the  kittle 
over  fer  my  dinner." 

"Dinner!   why,  it's  only  a  half  arter  nine." 

Mrs.  Hudgers  looked  incredulous. 
[63] 


AMARILLY  OP  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

"I  seen  the  chillern  agoin'  hum  from 
school,"  she  maintained. 

"Them  was  the  Jenkinses.  Iry  hez  come 
down  with  the  scarlit  fever,  and  they're  all 
in  quarry  tine." 

"How  you  talk!  Wait  till  I  put  the  kittle 
off  en  the  bile." 

The  two  neighbors  sat  down  to  discuss 
this  affliction  with  the  ready  sympathy  of 
the  poor  for  the  poor.  Their  passing  envy 
of  the  Jenkins's  good  fortune  was  instantly 
skimmed  from  the  surface  of  their  friendli- 
ness, which  had  only  lain  dormant  and 
wanted  but  the  touch  of  trouble  to  make 
them  once  more  akin. 

When  the  city  physician  had  pronounced 
Iry's  "spell"  to  be  scarlet  fever,  the  other 
members  of  the  household  were  immediately 
summoned  by  emergency  calls.  The  chil- 
dren came  from  school,  Amarilly  from  the 
theatre,  and  the  Boarder  from  his  switch 
to  hold  an  excited  family  conference. 

"It's  a  good  thing  we  got  the  washin's 
all  hum  afore  Iry  was  took,"  declared  the 
optimistic  Amarilly. 

"Thar's  two  things  here  yet,"  reported 
Mrs.  Jenkins.  "Gus  come  hum  too  late 

[64] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

last  night  to  take  the  preacher's  surplus  and 
Miss  King's  lace  waist.  You  was  so  tired  I 
didn't  tell  you,  'cause  I  know'd  you'd  be  sot 
on  goin'  with  them  yourself.  They're  all 
did  up." 

"Well,  they'll  hev  to  stay  right  here  with 
us  and  the  fever,"  said  Amarilly  philosoph- 
ically. 

At  heart  she  secretly  rejoiced  in  the  re- 
taining of  these  two  garments,  for  they 
seemed  to  keep  her  in  touch  with  their  own- 
ers whom  she  would  be  unable  to  see  until 
Iry  had  recovered. 

"I  don't  see  what  we  are  going  to  do, 
Amarilly,"  said  her  mother  despairingly. 
"Thar'll  be  nuthin'  comin'  in  and  so  many 
extrys." 

"No  extrys,"  cheerfully  assured  the  little 
comforter.  "The  city  doctor'll  take  keer  of 
Iry  and  bring  the  medicines.  We  hev  laid 
by  some  sence  we  got  the  church  wash. 
It'll  tide  us  over  till  Iry  gits  well.  We  all 
need  a  vacation  from  work,  anyhow." 

At  the  beginning  of  the  next  week  a  ten- 
dollar  bill  came  from  Colette,  "to  buy  jellies 
and  things  for  Iry,"  she  wrote.  A  similar 
contribution  came  from  John  Meredith. 

[65] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

"We  air  on  Easy  Street  onct  more!"  cried 
Amarilly  joyfully. 

"I  hate  to  take  the  money  from  them," 
sighed  Mrs.  Jenkins. 

"We'll  make  it  up  to  them  when  we  kin 
work  agin,"  consoled  Amarilly.  "Better  to 
take  from  friends  than  from  the  city.  It 
won't  be  fer  long.  Iry  seems  to  hev  took  it 
light,  the  doctor  said." 

This  diagnosis  proved  correct,  but  it  had 
not  occurred  to  Amarilly  in  her  prognostica- 
tions that  the  question  of  the  duration  of  the 
quarantine  was  not  entirely  dependent  upon 
Iry's  convalescence.  Like  a  row  of  blocks 
the  children,  with  the  exception  of  Flamingus 
and  Amarilly,  in  rapid  succession  came  down 
with  a  mild  form  of  the  fever.  Mrs.  Jenkins 
and  Amarilly  divided  the  labors  of  cook  and 
nurse,  but  the  mainstay  of  the  family  was 
the  Boarder.  He  aided  in  the  housework, 
and  as  an  entertainer  of  the  sick  he  proved 
invaluable.  He  told  stories,  drew  pictures, 
propounded  riddles,  whittled  boats  and  ani- 
mals, played  "Beggar  my  Neighbor,"  and 
sang  songs  for  the  convalescent  ward. 

When  the  last  cent  of  the  Jenkins's  reserve 
fund  and  the  contributions  from  the  rector 

[66] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

and  Colette  had  been  exhausted,  the  Boarder 
put  a  willing  hand  in  his  pocket  and  drew 
forth  his  all  to  share  with  the  afflicted  family. 
There  was  one  appalling  night  when  the 
treasury  was  entirely  depleted,  and  the  larder 
was  a  veritable  Mother  Hubbard's  cup- 
board. 

"Something  will  come,"  prophesied  Ama- 
rilly  trustfully. 

Something  did  come  the  next  day  in  the 
shape  of  a  donation  of  five  dollars  from  Mr. 
Vedder,  who  had  heard  of  the  prolonged 
quarantine.  Amarilly  wept  from  gratitude 
and  gladness. 

"The  perfesshun  allers  stand  by  each 
other,"  she  murmured  proudly. 

This  last  act  of  charity  kept  the  Jenkins's 
pot  boiling  until  the  premises  were  officially 
and  thoroughly  fumigated.  Again  famine 
threatened.  The  switch  remained  open  to 
the  Boarder,  and  he  was  once  more  on  duty, 
but  he  had  as  yet  drawn  no  wages.  One 
morning  there  was  nothing  for  breakfast. 

"I'll  pawn  my  ticker  at  noon,"  promised 
the  Boarder,  "and  bring  home  something  for 
dinner." 

"There  is  lots  of  folks  as  goes  without 
[67] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

breakfast  allers,  from* choice,"  informed  Ama- 
rilly.  "Miss  Vail,  the  teacher  at  the  Guild, 
says  it's  hygeniack." 

"It  won't  hurt  us  and  the  boys,"  said  Mrs. 
Jenkins,  "but  Try  and  Co  is  too  young  to  go 
hungry  even  if  it  be  hygeniack." 

"They  ain't  agoin'  hungry,"  declared 
Amarilly.  "I'll  pervide  fer  them." 

With  a  small  pitcher  under  her  cape  she 
started  bravely  forth  on  a  foraging  expedition. 
After  walking  a  few  blocks  she  came  to  a 
white  house  whose  woodhouse  joined  the 
alley.  Hiding  behind  a  barrel  she  watched 
and  waited  until  a  woman  opened  the  back 
door  and  set  a  soup  plate  of  milk  on  the 
lowest  step. 

"Come  a  kits!  Come  a  kits!"  she  called 
shrilly,  and  then  went  back  into  the  house. 

The  "kits"  came  on  the  run;  so  did 
Amarilly.  She  arrived  first,  and  hastily 
emptied  the  contents  of  the  soup  plate  into 
her  pitcher.  Then  she  fled,  leaving  two 
dismayed  maltese  kittens  disconsolately  lap- 
ping an  empty  dish. 

"Here's  milk  for  Iry,"  she  announced, 
handing  the  pitcher  to  her  mother.  "Now 
I'll  go  and  get  some  breakfast  for  Co." 

[68] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

She  returned  presently  with  a  sugared 
doughnut. 

"Where  did  you  borry  the  milk  and  nut- 
cake?"  asked  her  mother  wonderingly. 

"I  didn't  borry  them,"  replied  Amarilly 
stoically.  "I  stole  them." 

"Stole  them !     Am-a-ril-ly  Jenk-ins ! ' ' 

"Twan't  exackly  stealin',"  argued  Ama- 
rilly cheerfully.  "I  took  the  milk  from  two 
little  cats  what  git  stuffed  with  milk  every 
morning  and  night.  The  doughnut  had  jest 
been  stuck  in  a  parrot's  cage.  He  hedn't 
tetched  it.  My!  he  swore  fierce!  I'd  ruther 
steal,  anyway,  than  let  Iry  and  Co  go 
hungry." 

"  What  would  the  preacher  say ! "  demanded 
her  mother  solemnly.  "He  would  say  it  was 
wrong." 

"He  don't  know  nothin'  about  bein' 
hungry!"  replied  Amarilly  defiantly.  "If  he 
was  ever  as  hungry  as' Iry,  I  bet  he'd  steal 
from  a  cat." 

The  season  was  now  summer.  Some  time 
ago  John  Meredith  had  gone  to  the  seashore 
and  the  King  family  to  their  summer  home 
in  the  mountains,  unaware  that  the  fever 
had  spread  over  so  wide  an  area  in  the  Jen- 

[69] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

kins  domain.  The  theatre  and  St.  Mark's 
were  closed  for  the  rest  of  the  summer.  The 
little  boys  found  that  their  positions  had 
been  filled  during  the  period  of  quarantine. 
None  of  these  catastrophes,  however,  could 
be  compared  to  the  calamity  of  the  realiza- 
tion that  Bud  alone  of  all  the  patients  had 
not  convalesced  completely.  He  was  a  deli- 
cate little  fellow,  and  he  grew  paler  and 
thinner  each  day.  In  desperation  Amarilly 
went  to  the  doctor. 

"Bud  don't  pick  up,"  she  said  bluntly. 
1    "I  feared  he  wouldn't,"  replied  the  doctor. 

"Can't  you  try  some  other  kinds  of 
medicines?" 

"I  can,  but  I  am  afraid  that  there  is  no 
medicine  that  will  help  him  very  much." 

Amarilly  turned  pale. 

"Is  there  anything  else  that  will  help 
him?"  she  demanded  fiercely. 

"If  he  could  go  to  the  seashore  he  might 
brace  up.  Sea  air  would  work  wonders  for 
him." 

"He  shall  go,"  "said  Amarilly  with  deter- 
mination. 

"I  can  get  a  week  for  him  through  the 
Fresh  Air  Fund,"  suggested  the  doctor. 

[70] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

He  succeeded  in  getting  two  weeks,  and 
that  time  was  extended  another  fortnight 
through  the  benevolence  of  Mr.  Vedder. 

Bud  returned  a  study  in  reds  and  browns. 

"The  sea  beats  the  theayter  and  the 
church  all  to  smitherines,  Amarilly!"  he  de- 
clared jubilantly.  "I  kin  go  to  work  now." 

"No!"  said  Amarilly  resolutely.  "You 
air  goin'  to  loaf  through  this  hot  weather 
until  church  and  school  open." 

The  family  fund  once  more  had  a  modest 
start.  Mrs.  Jenkins  obtained  a  few  of  her 
old  customers,  Bobby  got  a  paper  route, 
Flamingus  and  Milton  were  again  at  work, 
but  Amarilly,  Gus,  and  Cory  were  without 
vocations. 

Soon  after  the  quarantine  was  lifted  Ama- 
rilly went  forth  to  deliver  the  surplice  and 
the  waist  which  had  hung  familiarly  side 
by  side  during  the  weeks  of  trouble.  The 
housekeeper  at  the  rectory  greeted  her  kindly 
and  was  most  sympathetic  on  learning  of 
the  protracted  confinement.  She  made  Ama- 
rilly a  present  of  the  surplice. 

"Mr.  Meredith  said  you  were  to  keep  it. 
He  thought  your  mother  might  find  it  useful. 
It  is  good  linen,  you  know,  and  you  can  cut 

[71] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

it  up  into  clothes  for  the  children.     He  has 
so    many    surplices,    he    won't     miss     this 


one." 


"I'll  never  cut  it  up!"  thought  Amarilly, 
as  she  reverently  received  the  robe.  "I'll 
keep  it  in  'membrance  of  him." 

"It's  orful  good  in  him  to  give  it  to  us," 
she  said  gratefully  to  the  housekeeper. 

That  worthy  woman  smiled,  remembering 
how  the  fastidious  young  rector  had  shrunk 
from  the  thought  of  wearing  a  fumigated 
garment. 

At  the  King  residence  Amarilly  saw  the 
caretaker,  who  gave  her  a  similar  message 
regarding  the  lace  waist. 

"I'll  keep  it,"  thought  Amarilly  with  a 
shy  little  blush,  "until  I'm  merried.  It'll 
start  my  trousseau." 

She  took  the  garments  home,  not  men- 
tioning to  anyone  the  gift  of  the  waist,  how- 
ever, for  that  was  to  be  her  secret  —  her 
first  secret.  She  hid  this  nest-egg  of  her 
trousseau  in  an  old  trunk  which  she  fastened 
securely. 

On  the  next  day  she  was  summoned  to 
help  clean  the  theatre,  which  had  been 
rented  for  one  night  by  the  St.  Andrew's 

[72] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

vested  choir,  whose  members  were  to  give  a 
sacred  concert.  A  rehearsal  for  this  enter- 
tainment was  being  held  when  Amarilly 
arrived. 

"These  surplices  are  all  too  long  or  too 
short  for  me,"  complained  the  young  tenor, 
who  had  recently  been  engaged  for  the  solo 
parts. 

Amarilly  surveyed  him  critically. 

"He's  jest  about  Mr.  St.  John's  size,"  she 
mused,  "only  he  ain't  so  fine  a  shape." 

With  the  thought  came  an  inspiration  that 
brought  a  quickly  waged  battle.  It  seemed 
sacrilegious,  although  she  didn't  express  it 
by  that  word,  to  permit  another  to  wear  a 
garment  so  sacred  to  the  memory  of  Mr. 
Meredith,  but  poverty,  that  kill-sentiment, 
had  fully  developed  the  practical  side  of 
Amarilly. 

She  made  answer  to  her  stabs  of  conscience 
by  action  instead  of  words,  going  straight  to 
her  friend,  the  ticket-seller. 

"That  feller,"  she  said,  indicating  the 
tenor,  "ain't  satisfied  with  the  fit  of  his 
surplus.  I've  got  one  jest  his  size.  It's 
done  up  spick  and  span  clean,  and  I'll  rent 
it  to  him  fer  the  show.  He  kin  hev  it  fer 

[73] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

the  ev'nin'  fer  a  dollar.  Would  you  ask  him 
fer  me?" 

"Certainly,  Amarilly,"  he  agreed. 

He  came  back  to  her,  smiling. 

"He'll  take  it,  but  he  seems  to  think 
your  charge  rather  high  —  more  than  that  of 
most  costumers,  he  said." 

"This  ain't  no  common  surplus,"  de- 
fended Amarilly  loftily.  "It  was  wore  by 
the  rector  of  St.  Mark's,  and  he  give  it  to  me. 
It's  of  finer  stuff  than  the  choir  surpluses, 
and  it  hez  got  a  cross  worked  onto  it,  and 
a  pocket  in  it,  too." 

"Of  course  such  inducements  should  in- 
crease the  value,"  confirmed  Mr.  Vedder 
gravely,  and  he  proceeded  to  hold  another 
colloquy  with  the  twinkling-eyed  tenor. 
Amarilly  went  home  for  the  surplice  and 
received  therefor  the  sum  of  one  dollar,  which 
swelled  the  Jenkins's  purse  perceptibly. 

And  here  began  the  mundane  career  of 
the  minister's  surplice. 


[74] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 


CHAPTER  VIII 

EVER  apt  in  following  a  lead,  Amarilly  at 
once  resolved  to  establish  a  regular  cos- 
tuming business.  It  even  occurred  to  her 
to  hire  out  the  lace  waist,  but  thoughts  of 
wedding  bells  prevailed  against  her  impulse  to 
open  this  branch  of  the  business. 

When  the  young  tenor  returned  the  sur- 
plice he  informed  Amarilly  that  two  young 
ladies  of  his  acquaintance  were  going  to  give 
a  home  entertainment  for  charity.  Among 
the  impromptu  acts  would  be  some  tableaux, 
and  the  surplice  was  needed  for  a  church 
scene.  So  the  new  venture  brought  in  an- 
other dollar  that  week. 

One  day  Bud  came  home  capless,  having 
crossed  a  bridge  in  a  high  wind. 

"I  seen  an  ad,"  said  the  thrifty  Flamingus, 
"that  the  Beehive  would  give  away  baseball 
caps  to-day." 

Amarilly  immediately  set  out  for  the  Bee- 
hive, an  emporium  of  fashion  in  the  vicinity 
of  the  theatre.  It  was  the  noon  hour,  and 
there  were  no  other  customers  in  evidence. 

[75] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

The  proprietor  and  a  clerk  were  engaged  in 
discussing  the  design  for  a  window  display, 
and  were  loath  to  notice  their  would-be 
beneficiary.  Finally  the  clerk  drawled  out: 

"Did  you  want  anything,  little  girl?" 

"I  called,"  explained  Amarilly  with  grandi- 
ose manner,  "to  git  one  of  them  caps  you 
advertised  to  give  away." 

"Oh,  those  were  all  given  out  long  ago. 
You  should  have  come  earlier,"  he  replied 
with  an  air  of  relief,  as  he  turned  to  resume 
the  all-absorbing  topic  with  the  proprietor. 

Amarilly 's  interest  in  the  window  display 
dispelled  any  disappointment  she  might  have 
had  in  regard  to  Bud's  head  covering. 

"Now,"  said  the  clerk  didactically,  "my 
idea  is  this.  Have  a  wedding  —  a  church 
wedding.  I  can  rig  up  an  altar,  and  we'll 
have  the  bride  in  a  white,  trailing  gown; 
the  groom,  best  man,  and  ushers  in  dress 
suits  to  advertise  our  gents'  department, 
the  bridesmaids  and  relatives  in  different 
colored  evening  dresses,  and  in  this  way  we 
can  announce  our  big  clearing  sale  of  summer 
goods  in  the  ready-to-wear  department.  It'll 
make  a  swell  window  and  draw  crowds. 
Women  can  never  get  by  a  wedding." 

[76] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

"That's  a  dandy  idea,  Ben,"  approved  the 
proprietor. 

"Oh,  I  am  a  winner  on  ideas,"  vaunted 
the  clerk  chestily. 

So  was  Amarilly.  She  stepped  eagerly  up 
to  the  window  designer. 

"Do  you  keep  surpluses?" 

"No;  don't  know  what  they  are,"  replied 
the  clerk  shortly,  turning  from  her.  "We'll 
get  a  wreath  of  orange  flowers  for  the  bride, 
and  then  we  can  have  a  child  carrying  the 
ring,  so  as  to  call  attention  to  our  children's 
department." 

"A  surplus,"  explained  Amarilly,  scornful 
of  such  avowed  ignorance,  "is  the  white  gown 
that  Episcopal  ministers  wear." 

"No;  we  don't  keep  them,"  was  the  im- 
patient rejoinder. 

"Well,  I  hev  one,"  she  said,  addressing  the 
proprietor  this  time,  "a  real  minister's,  and 
I'll  rent  it  to  you  to  put  on  your  figger  of  the 
minister  in  your  wedding  window.  He'll  hev 
to  wear  one." 

"I  am  not  an  Episcopalian,"  said  the  pro- 
prietor hesitatingly.  "What  do  you  think, 
Ben?" 

"Well,  it  hadn't  occurred  to  me  to  have  an 
[77] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

Episcopal  wedding,  but  I  don't  know  but 
what  it  would  work  out  well,  after  all.  It 
would  make  it  attract  notice  more,  and  women 
are  always  daffy  over  Episcopal  weddings. 
They  like  classy  things.  We  could  put  a 
card  in  the  window,  saying  all  the  clergy 
bought  the  linen  for  their  surplices  here. 
How,"  turning  to  Amarilly,  "did  you  happen 
to  have  such  an  article?" 

"We  do  the  washin'  fer  St.  Mark's 
church,  and  the  minister  give  us  one  of  his 
surpluses." 

'The  display  will  be  in  for  six  days.  What 
will  you  rent  it  for  that  long?" 

"I  allers  git  a  dollar  a  night  fer  it,"  replied 
Amarilly. 

"Too  much ! "  declared  the  clerk.  " I'll  give 
you  fifty  cents  a  day." 

"I'll  let  it  go  six  days  fer  four  dollars," 
bargained  Amarilly. 

"Well,  seeing  you  have  come  down  on  your 
offer,  I'll  come  up  a  little  on  mine.  I'll  take 
it  for  three-fifty." 

Amarilly  considered. 

"I  will,  if  you'll  throw  in  one  of  them  caps 
fer  my  brother." 

"All  right,"  laughed  the  proprietor.  "I 
[78] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

think  we'll  call  it  a  bargain.     See  if  you  can't 
dig  up  one  of  those  caps  for  her,  Ben." 

Without  much  difficulty  Ben  produced  a 
cap,  and  Amarilly  hurried  home  for  the  sur- 
plice. She  went  down  to  the  Beehive  every 
day  during  the  wedding-window  week  and 
feasted  her  eyes  on  the  beloved  gown.  She 
took  all  the  glory  of  the  success  of  the  display 
to  her  own  credit,  and  her  feelings  were  very 
much  like  those  of  the  writer  of  a  play  on  a 
first  night. 

From  a  wedding  to  a  funeral  was  the  nat- 
ural evolution  of  a  surplice,  but  this  time  it 
did  not  appear  in  its  customary  role.  In- 
stead of  adorning  a  minister,  it  clad  the 
corpse.  Mrs.  Hudgers's  only  son,  a  scalawag, 
who  had  been  a  constant  drain  on  his  mother's 
small  stipend,  was  taken  ill  and  died,  to  the 
discreetly  disguised  relief  of  the  neighbor- 
hood. 

"I'm  agoin'  to  give  Hallie  a  good  funeral," 
Mrs.  Hudgers  confided  to  Amarilly.  "I'm 
agoin'  to  hev  hacks  and  flowers  and  singin'. 
If  yer  St.  Mark's  man  was  to  hum  now,  I 
should  like  to  have  him  fishy  ate." 

"Who  will  you  git?"  asked  Amarilly  inter- 
estedly. 

[79] 


"I'll  hev  the  preacher  from  the  meetin'- 
house  on  the  hill,  Brother  Longgrass." 

"I  wonder,"  speculated  Amarilly,  "if  he'd 
like  to  wear  the  surplus?" 

Foremost  as  the  plumes  of  Henry  of  Navarre 
in  battle  were  the  surplice  and  the  renting 
thereof  in  Amarilly 's  vision. 

"I  don't  expect  he  could  do  that,"  replied 
Mrs.  Hudgers  doubtfully.  "His  church  most 
likely  wouldn't  stand  fer  it.  Brother  Long- 
grass  is  real  kind  if  he  ain't  my  sort.  He's 
agoin'  to  let  the  boys  run  the  maylodeun 
down  here  the  night  afore  the  funyral." 

"Who's  agoin'  to  sing?" 

"I  dunno  yit.  I  left  it  to  the  preacher. 
He  said  he'd  git  me  a  picked  choir,  whatever 
that  may  be." 

"My!  But  you'll  hev  a  fine  funeral!" 
exclaimed  Amarilly  admiringly. 

"I  allers  did  say  that  when  Hallie  got 
merried,  or  died,  things  should  be  done  right. 
Thar's  jest  one  thing  I  can't  hev." 

"What's  that,  Mrs.  Hudgers?" 

"Why,  you  see,  Amarilly,  Hallie's  clo'es 
air  sort  of  shabby-like,  and  when  we  git  him 
in  that  shiny  new  caskit,  they  air  agoin' 
to  show  up  orful  seedy.  But  I  can't  afford 

[80] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

ter  buy  him  a  new  suit  jest  for  this 
onct." 

"Couldn't  you  rent  a  suit?"  asked  Ama- 
rilly,  her  ruling  passion  for  business  still 
dominating. 

"No;  I  jest  can't,  Amarilly.  It's  costin' 
me  too  much  now." 

"I  know  it  is,"  sympathized  Amarilly, 
concentrating  her  mind  on  the  puzzling  so- 
lution of  Hallie's  habiliment. 

"Mrs.  Hudgers,"  she  exclaimed  suddenly, 
"why  can't  you  put  the  surplus  on  Hallie? 
You  kin  slip  it  on  over  his  suit,  and  when  the 
funeral's  over,  and  they  hev  all  looked  at  the 
corpse,  you  kin  take  it  off  en  him." 

"Oh,  that  would  be  sweet!"  cried  Mrs. 
Hudgers,  brightening  perceptibly.  "Hallie 
would  look  beautiful  in  it,  and  'twould  be 
diffrent  from  any  one  else's  funeral.  How 
you  allers  think  of  things,  Amarilly!  But  I 
ain't  got  no  dollar  to  pay  you  fer  it." 

"If  you  did  hev  one,"  replied  Amarilly 
indignantly,  "I  shouldn't  let  you  pay  fer  it. 
We're  neighbors,  and  what  I  kin  do  fer  Hallie 
I  want  ter  do." 

"Well,  Amarilly,  it's  certainly  fine  fer  you 
to  feel  that  way.  You  don't  think,"  she 

[81] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

added  with  sudden  apprehension,  "that  they'd 
think  the  surplus  was  Hallie's  nightshirt, 
do  you?" 

"Oh,  no!"  protested  Amarilly,  shocked  at 
such  a  supposition.  "Besides,  you  kin  tell 
them  all  that  Hallie's  laid  out  in  a  surplus. 
They  all  seen  them  to  the  concert." 

The  funeral  passed  off  with  great  eclat. 
The  picked  choir  had  resonant  voices,  and 
Brother  Longgrass  preached  one  of  his  longest 
sermons,  considerately  omitting  reference  to 
any  of  the  characteristics  of  the  deceased. 
Mrs.  Hudgers  was  suitably  attired  in  donated 
and  dusty  black.  The  extremely  unconven- 
tional garb  of  Hallie  caused  some  little  com- 
ment, but  it  was  commonly  supposed  to 
be  a  part  of  the  Episcopalian  spirit  which 
the  Jenkinses  seemed  to  be  inculcating  in 
the  neighborhood.  Brother  Longgrass  was 
a  little  startled  upon  beholding  the  white- 
robed  corpse,  but  perceiving  what  comfort 
it  brought  to  the  afflicted  mother,  he  mag- 
nanimously forbore  to  allude  to  the  matter. 

After  the  remains  had  been  viewed  for  the 
last  time,  the  surplice  was  removed.  In 
the  evening  Amarilly  called  for  it. 

"He  did  look  handsome  in  it,"  commented 
[82] 


Mrs.  Hudgers  with  a  satisfied,  reminiscent 
smile.  "I  wish  I  might  of  hed  his  likeness 
took.  I'm  agoin'  to  make  you  take  hum 
this  pan  of  fried  cakes  Mrs.  Holdock  fetched 
in.  They'll  help  fill  up  the  chillern." 

"I  don't  want  to  rob  you,  Mrs.  Hudgers," 
said  Amarilly,  gazing  longingly  at  the  dough- 
nuts, which  were  classed  as  luxuries  in  the 
Jenkins's  menu. 

"I  dassent  eat  'em,  Amarilly.  If  I  et  jest 
one,  I'd  hev  dyspepsy  orful,  and  folks  hez 
brung  in  enough  stuff  to  kill  me  now.  It 
does  beat  all  the  way  they  bring  vittles  to  a 
house  of  mournin'!  I  only  wish  Hallie  could 
hev  some  of  'em." 


[83] 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  surplice,  carefully  laundered  after 
the  funeral,  was  ready  for  new  fields 
of  labor.  The  tenor,  first  patron  of  Amarilly's 
costuming  establishment,  was  wont  to  loiter 
in  the  studio  of  an  artist  he  knew  and  relate 
his  about-town  adventures.  This  artist  was 
interested  in  the  annals  of  the  little  scrub - 
girl  and  her  means  of  livelihood. 

"I  have  in  mind,"  he  said  musingly,  "a 
picture  of  a  musician,  the  light  to  be  streaming 
through  a  stained  window  on  his  uplifted 
head  as  he  sits  at  an  organ." 

"The  Lost  Chord?"  inquired  the  tenor. 

"Nothing  quite  so  bromidic  as  that," 
laughed  the  artist.  "I  have  my  model  en- 
gaged, and  I  had  intended  to  have  you  borrow 
a  surplice  for  me,  but  you  may  ask  your  little 
customer  to  rent  me  her  gown  for  a  couple 
of  days." 

On  receipt  of  this  request  delivered  through 
the  medium  of  the  ticket-seller,  Amarilly 
promptly  appeared  at  the  studio.  She  was 
gravely  and  courteously  received  by  the 

[84] 


artist,  Deny  Phillips,  an  easy-mannered 
youth,  slim  and  supple,  with  dark,  laughing 
eyes.  When  they  had  transacted  the  business 
pertaining  to  the  rental  of  the  surplice,  Am- 
arilly  arose  from  her  chair  with  apparent 
reluctance.  This  was1  a  new  atmosphere, 
and  she  was  fascinated  by  the  pictures  and 
the  general  air  of  artistic  disarrangement 
which  she  felt  but  could  not  account  for. 

"Tain't  exactly  the  kind  of  place  to 
tidy,"  she  reflected,  "but  it  needs  cleaning 
tumble." 

"Do  you  like  pictures?"  asked  the  young 
artist,  following  her  gaze.  "Stay  a  while 
and  look  at  them,  if  you  wish." 

Amarilly  readily  availed  herself  of  this 
permission,  and  rummaged  about  the  rooms 
while  Deny  pursued  his  work.  Upon  the 
completion  of  her  tour  of  inspection,  he 
noticed  a  decided  look  of  disapproval  upon 
her  face. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Miss  Jenkins?  Aren't 
the  pictures  true  to  life?"  he  inquired  with 
feigned  anxiety. 

"The  picters  is  all  right,"  replied  Ama- 
rilly, but- 

"But  what?"  he  urged  expectantly, 
[85] 


"Your  rooms  need  reddin'  up.  Thar's 
an  orful  lot  of  dust.  Yer  things  will  spile." 

"Oh,  dust,  you  know,  to  the  artistic  tem- 
perament, is  merely  a  little  misplaced  matter." 

"  'Tain't  only  misplaced.  It's  stuck  tight," 
contended  Amarilly. 

"Dear  me!  And  to  think  that  I  was 
contemplating  a  studio  tea  to  some  people 
day  after  to-morrow.  I  suppose  it  really 
should  be  'red  up'  again.  Honestly  though, 
I  engage  a  woman  to  come  every  week  and 
clean  the  rooms." 

"She's  imposed  on  you,"  said  Amarilly 
indignantly.  "She's  swept  the  dirt  up  agin 
the  mopboards  and  left  it  thar,  and  she  hez 
only  jest  skimmed  over  things  with  a  dust- 
cloth.  It  ain't  done  thorough." 

"And  are  you  quite  proficient  as  a  blan- 
chisseuse?" 

Amarilly  looked  at  him  unperturbed. 

"I  kin  scrub,"  she  remarked  calmly. 

"I  stand  rebuked.  Scrubbing  is  what  they 
need.  If  you  will  come  to-morrow  morning 
and  put  these  rooms  in  order,  I  will  give  you 
a  dollar  and  your  midday  meal." 

Amarilly,  well  satisfied  with  her  new  open- 
ing, closed  the  bargain  instantly. 

[86] 


The  next  morning  at  seven  o'clock  she 
rang  the  studio  bell.  The  artist,  attired  in 
a  bathrobe  and  rubbing  his  eyes  sleepily, 
opened  the  door. 

"This  was  the  day  I  was  to  clean,"  reminded 
Amarilly  reprovingly. 

"To  be  sure.  But  why  so  early?  I 
thought  you  were  a  telegram." 

"Early!     It's  seven  o'clock." 

"I  still  claim  it's  early.  I  have  only  been 
in  bed  four  hours." 

"Well,  you  kin  go  back  to  bed.  I'll  work 
orful  quiet." 

"And  I  can  trust  you  not  to  touch  any 
of  the  pictures  or  move  anything?" 

"I'll  be  keerful,"  Amarilly  assured  him. 
"Jest  show  me  whar  to  het  up  the  water. 
I  brung  the  soap  and  a  brush." 

The  artist  lighted  a  gas  stove,  and,  after 
carefully  donning  a  long-sleeved  apron,  Ama- 
rilly put  the  water  on  and  began  operations. 
Her  eyes  shone  with  anticipation  as  she 
looked  about  her. 

"I'm  glad  it's  so  dirty,"  she  remarked. 
"It's  more  interestin'  to  clean  a  dirty  place. 
Then  what  you  do  shows  up,  and  you  feel 
you  earnt  your  money." 

[87] 


With  a  laugh  the  artist  returned  to  his 
bedroom,  whence  he  emerged  three  hours 
later. 

"This  room  is  all  cleaned,"  announced 
Amarilly.  "It  took  me  so  long  'cause  it's  so 
orful  big  and  then  'twas  so  tumble  dirty." 

'You  must  have  worked  like  a  little  Trojan. 
Now  stop  a  bit  while  I  prepare  my  breakfast." 

"Kin  you  cook?"  asked  Amarilly  in  aston- 
ishment. 

"I  can  make  coffee  and  poach  eggs.  Come 
into  my  butler's  pantry  and  watch  me." 

Amarilly  followed  him  into  a  small  apart- 
ment and  was  initiated  into  the  mysteries 
of  electric  toasters  and  percolators. 

He  tried  in  vain  to  induce  her  to  share  his 
meal  with  him,  but  she  protested. 

"I  hed  my  breakfast  at  five-thirty.  I 
don't  eat  agin  till  noon." 

"Oh,  Miss  Jenkins!  You  have  no  artistic 
temperament  or  you  would  not  cling  to  iron- 
clad rules." 

"My  name's  Amarilly,"  she  answered 
shortly.  "I  ain't  old  enough  to  be  'missed' 

yet." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Amarilly.  You  seem 
any  age,"  he  replied,  sitting  down  to  his 

[88] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

breakfast.     "You    are    not    too    old,    then, 
for  me  to  ask  what  your  age  is  —  in  years?" 

"I  jest  got  into  my  teens." 

'Thirteen.  And  I  am  ten  years  older. 
When  is  your  birthday?" 

"It's  ben.     It  was  the  fust  of  June." 

"Why,  Amarilly,"  jumping  up  and  holding 
out  his  hand,  "we  are  twins!  That  is  my 
birthday." 

"And  you  are  twenty-three." 

"Right  you  are.  That  is  my  age  at  the 
present  moment.  Last  night  I  was  far 
older,  and  to-morrow,  mayhap,  I'll  be  years 
younger." 

"Be  you  a  Christian  Science?"  she  asked 
doubtfully. 

"Lord,  no,  child!  I  am  an  artist.  What 
made  you  ask  that?" 

"Cause  they  don't  believe  in  age.  Miss 
Jupperskin  told  me  about  'em.  She's  work- 
in'  up  to  it.  But  I  must  go  back  to  my 
work." 

"So  must  I,  Amarilly.  My  model  will 
be  here  in  a  few  moments  to  don  your  sur- 
plice. If  you  want  to  clean  up  my  breakfast 
dishes  you  may  do  so,  and  then  tackle  the 
bedroom  and  the  rest  of  the  apartment." 

[89] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

Three  hours  later,  Amarilly  went  into  the 
studio.  The  model  had  gone,  and  the  artist 
stood  before  his  easel  surveying  his  sketch 
with  approval. 

"This  is  going  to  be  a  good  picture,  Ama- 
rilly. The  model  caught  my  idea.  There 
is  some  fore — ' 

"Mr.  Phillips!" 

"My  name  is  Deny.  I  am  too  young  to 
be  'mistered." 

There  was  no  response,  and  with  a  smile  he 
turned  inquiringly  toward  her.  There  was 
a  wan  little  droop  about  the  corners  of  her 
eyes  and  lips  that  brought  contrition  to  his 
boyish  heart. 

"Amarilly,  you  are  tired!  You  have 
worked  too  steadily.  Sit  down  and  rest  awhile. ' ' 

"'Tain't  that!  I'm  hungry.  Kin  I  het  up 
the  coffee  and  - 

"Good  gracious,  Amarilly!  I  forgot  you 
ate  at  regular,  stated  intervals.  We  will 
go  right  out  now  to  a  nice  little  restaurant 
near  by  and  eat  our  luncheon  together." 

Amarilly  flushed. 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Derry.  That's  orful  nice 
in  you,  but  I'd  ruther  eat  here.  Thar's  the 
toast  and  coffee  to  het,  and  an  aig  — " 

[90] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

"No!  You  are  going  to  have  a  good, 
square  meal  and  eat  it  with  me.  You  see  I 
had  to  eat  my  birthday  dinner  all  alone,  so 
we'll  celebrate  the  first  of  June  now,  together. 
Slip  off  your  apron.  By  the  way,  some  day 
I  shall  paint  a  picture  of  you  in  that  apron 
scrubbing  my  'mopboard." 

Amarilly  shook  her  head. 

"I  don't  look  fit  to  go  nowhars  with  you, 
Mr.  Deny." 

" Vanitas,  and  the  rest  of  it!  Oh,  Amarilly, 
only  thirteen,  and  the  ruling  passion  of  your 
sex  already  in  full  sway!" 

"It's  on  your  account  that  I'm  ashamed," 
she  said  in  defence  of  his  accusation.  "I'd 
want  ter  look  nice  fer  you." 

"That's  sweet  of  you,  Amarilly;  but  if 
you  really  want  to  look  nice,  don't  think  of 
your  clothes.  It's  other  things.  Think  of 
your  hair,  for  instance.  It's  your  best  point, 
and  yet  you  hide  it  under  a  bushel  and,  worse 
than  that,  you  braid  it  so  tight  I  verily  believe 
it's  wired." 

"I'm  used  to  bein'  teased  about  my  red 
head,"  she  replied.  "I  don't  keer." 

"It's  a  glorious  red,  Amarilly.  The  color 
the  vulgar  jeer  at,  and  artists  like  your  friend 

[91] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

and  twin,  Derry,  rave  over.  You're  what  is 
called  'Titian-haired.'" 

"Are  you  makin'  fun,  Mr.  Derry?"  she 
asked  suspiciously. 

"No,  Amarilly;  seriously,  I  think  it  the 
loveliest  shade  of  hair  there  is,  and  now  I 
am  going  to  show  you  how  you  should  wear  it. 
Unbind  it,  all  four  of  those  skin-tight 
braids." 

She  obeyed  him,  and  a  loosened,  thick  mass 
of  hair  fell  below  her  waist. 

"Glorious!"  he  cried  fervidly.  'Take  that 
comb  from  the  top  of  your  head  and  comb  it 
out.  There!  Now  part  it,  and  catch  up 
these  strands  loosely  —  so.  I  must  find  a 
ribbon  for  a  bow.  What  color  would  you 
suggest,  Amarilly?" 

"Brown." 

"Bravo,  Amarilly.  If  you  had  said  blue, 
I  should  have  lost  all  faith  in  your  future 
upcoming.  Here  are  two  most  beautiful 
brown  bows  on  this  thingamajig  some  one 
gave  me  last  Christmas,  and  whose  claim  on 
creation  I  never  discovered.  Let  me  braid 
your  hair  loosely  for  two  and  one-quar- 
ter inches.  One  bow  here  —  another  there. 
Look  in  the  glass,  Amarilly.  If  I  give  you 

[92] 


AMARILLY  OP  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

these  bows  will  you  promise  me  never  to 
wear  your  hair  in  any  other  fashion  until 
you  are  sixteen  at  least?  Off  with  your  apron ! 
It's  picturesque,  but  soapy  and  exceedingly 
wet.  You  won't  need  a  hat.  It's  only  around 
the  corner,  and  I  want  your  hair  to  be  ob- 
served and  admired." 

Amarilly  gained  assurance  from  the  reflec- 
tion of  her  hair  in  the  mirror,  and  they 
started  gayly  forth  like  two  school  children 
out  for  a  lark.  He  ushered  her  into  a  quiet 
little  cafe  that  had  an  air  of  pronounced  ele- 
gance about  it.  In  a  secluded  corner  behind 
some  palms  came  the  subdued  notes  of 
stringed  instruments.  Deny  seemed  to  be 
well  known  here,  and  his  waiter  viewed  his 
approach  with  an  air  of  proprietorship. 

"It's  dead  quiet  here,"  thought  Amarilly 
wonderingly.  "Like  a  church." 

It  was  beginning  to  dawn  upon  her  alert 
little  brain  that  real  things  were  all  quiet, 
not  noisy  like  the  theatre. 

"What  shall  we  have  first,  Amarilly?" 
inquired  her  new  friend  with  mock  deference. 
"Bouillon?" 

Amarilly,  recalling  the  one  time  in  her 
life  when  she  had  had  "luncheon,"  replied 

[93] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

casually  that  she  preferred  fruit,  and  sug- 
gested a  melon. 

"Good,  Amarilly!  You  are  a  natural  epi- 
cure. Fruit,  certainly,  on  a  warm  day  like 
this.  I  shall  let  you  select  all  the  courses. 
What  next?" 

"Lobster,"  she  replied  nonchalantly. 

"Fine!    And  then?" 

"Grapefruit  salad." 

He  looked  at  her  in  amazement,  and  re- 
flected that  she  had  doubtless  been  employed 
in  some  capacity  that  had  made  her  acquainted 
with  luncheon  menus. 

"And,"  concluded  Amarilly,  without  wait- 
ing for  prompting,  "I  think  an  ice  would 
be  about  right.  And  coffee  in  a  little  cup, 
and  some  cheese." 

"By  all  means,  Amarilly,"  he  responded 
humbly.  "And  what  kind  of  cheese,  please? " 

"Now  I'm  stumped,"  thought  Amarilly 
ruefully,  "fer  I  can't  'member  how  to  speak 
the  kind  she  hed." 

"Most  any  kind,"  she  said  loftily,  "except 
that  kind  you  put  in  mousetraps." 

"Oh,  Amarilly,  you  are  a  true  aristocrat! 
How  comes  it  that  you  scrub  floors?  Is  it 
on  a  bet?" 

[94] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

The  waiter  came  up  and  said  something 
to  the  artist  in  a  low  tone,  and  Deny  replied 
hastily : 

"Nothing  to-day."  Then,  turning  to  Ama- 
rilly,  he  asked  her  if  she  would  like  a  glass 
of  milk.  Upon  her  assent,  he  ordered  two 
glasses  of  milk,  to  the  veiled  surprise  of  the 
waiter. 

When  the  luncheon  was  served,  Amarilly, 
by  reason  of  her  good  memory,  was  still  at 
ease.  The  children  at  the  Guild  school  had 
been  given  a  few  general  rules  in  table  deport- 
ment, but  Amarilly  had  followed  every  move- 
ment of  Colette's  so  faithfully  at  the  eventful 
luncheon  that  she  ate  very  slowly,  used  the 
proper  forks  and  spoons,  and  won  Derry's 
undisguised  admiration. 

"Mr.  Vedder's,  good,"  she  thought.  "Mr. 
St.  John's  grand,  but  this  'ere  Mr.  Derry's 
folksy.  I'd  be  skeert  settin'  here  eatin'  with 
Mr.  St.  John,  but  this  feller's  only  a  kid, 
and  I  feel  quite  to  hum  with  him." 

"Amarilly,"  he  said  confidentially,  as  they 
were  sipping  their  coffee  from  "little  cups," 
"you  are  truthful,  I  know.  Will  you  be 
perfectly  frank  with  me  and  answer  a  ques- 
tion?" 

[95] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHE&-LINE  ALLEY 

"Mebby,"  she  replied  warily. 

"Did  you  ever  eat  a  luncheon  like  this 
before?" 

"I  never  seen  the  inside  of  a  restyrant 
afore,"  she  replied. 

"Now  you  are  fencing.  I  mean,  did  you 
ever  have  the  same  things  to  eat  that  we 
had  just  now?" 

Amarilly  hesitated,  longing  to  mystify  him 
further,  but  it  came  over  her  in  a  rush  how 
very  kind  he  had  been  to  her. 

"Yes,  I  hev.  I'll  tell  you  all  about 
it." 

"Good!  An  after-dinner  story!  Beat  her 
up,  Amarilly!" 

So  she  told  him  of  her  patroness  and  the 
luncheon  she  had  eaten  at  her  house. 

"And  I  watched  how  she  et  and  done,  and 
she  tole  me  the  names  of  the  things  we  hed. 
I  writ  them  out,  and  that  was  my  lesson  that 
night  with  the  Boarder." 

Then,  of  course,  Derry  must  know  all  about 
the  Boarder  and  the  brothers.  After  she 
had  finished  her  faithful  descriptions,  it  was 
time  to  return  to  the  studio.  Her  quick, 
keen  eyes  had  noted  the  size  of  the  bill  Derry 
had  put  on  the  salver,  and  the  small  amount 

[96] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

of  change  he  had  received.  She  walked  home 
beside  him  in  troubled  silence. 

"What's  the  matter,  Amarilly?"  he  asked 
as  she  was  buttoning  on  her  apron  prepara- 
tory to  resuming  work.  "Didn't  the  lunch- 
eon agree  with  you,  or  are  you  mad  at  me? 
And  for  why,  pray?" 

Amarilly 's  thin  little  face  flushed  and  a 
tear  came  into  each  thoughtful  eye. 

"I  hedn't  orter  to  hev  tole  you  ter  git  all 
them  things.  I  was  atryin'  ter  be  smart  and 
show  off,  but,  honest,  I  didn't  know  they  was 
agoin'  ter  cost  so  much.  I  ain't  agoin'  ter 
take  no  money  fer  the  cleanin',  and  that'll 
help  some." 

Derry  laughed  rapturously. 

"My  dear  child!"  he  exclaimed,  when  he 
could  speak.  ;'You  are  a  veritable  little  field 
daisy.  You  really  saved  me  money  by  going 
with  me.  If  I  had  gone  alone,  I  should  haVe 
spent  twice  as  much." 

"How  could  that  be?"  she  asked  unbeliev- 
ingly. 'You  would  only  hev  give  one  order, 
so  'twould  hev  ben  jest  half  as  much." 

"But  if  you  had  not  been  with  me,  I  should 
have  had  a  cocktail  and  a  bottle  of  wine, 
which  would  have  cost  more  than  our  meal. 

[97] 


Out  of  deference  to  your  youth  and  other 
things,  I  forbore  to  indulge.  So  you  see  I 
saved  money  by  having  you  along.  And  then 
it  was  much  better  for  me  not  to  have  had 
those  libations." 

"Honest  true?" 

"Honest  true,  hope  to  die!  Cross  my 
heart  and  all  the  rest  of  it!  I'd  lie  cheer- 
fully to  some  people,  but  never  to  you, 
Amarilly." 

"Mr.  Reeves-Eggleston  —  he's  on  the  stage 

—  said  artists  was  allers  poor." 

"That's  one  reason  why  I  am  not  an  artist 

—  a   great   artist.     I    am   hampered    by   an 
inheritance  that  allows  me  to  live  without 
working,  so  I  don't  do  anything  worth  while. 
I  only  dabble  at  this  and  that.    Some  day, 
maybe,  I'll  have  an  inspiration." 

"Go  to  work  now,"  she  admonished. 

"I  must  perforce.  My  model's  foot  is 
on  the  stair." 

Amarilly  left  the  studio  to  resume  her 
cleaning.  At  five  o'clock  she  came  back. 
Deny  stood  at  the  window,  working  furiously 
at  some  fleecy  clouds  sailing  over  a  cerulean 
sky.  She  was  about  to  speak,  but  discerning 
that  he  must  work  speedily  and  uninter- 

[98] 


ruptedly  to  keep  pace  with  the  shifting  clouds, 
she  refrained. 

"There!"  he  said.  "I  got  it.  You  were 
a  good  little  girl  not  to  interrupt  me,  Ama- 
rilly." 

"It's  beautiful!"  gasped  Amarilly.  "I 
was  afeard  you'd  git  the  sky  blue  instead  of 
purplish  and  that  you'd  make  the  clouds  too 
white." 

"Amarilly,  you've  the  soul  of  an  artist! 
In  you  I  have  found  a  true  critic." 

"Come  and  see  if  the  rooms  is  all  right. 
I  got  'em  real  clean.  Every  nook  and  corner. 
And- 

"I  know  you  did,  Amarilly,  without  look- 
ing. I  can  smell  the  clean  from  here." 

"If  thar's  nothin'  more  you  want  did,  I'll 
go  hum." 

"Here's  a  dollar  for  the  rooms  and  two 
dollars  for  the  surplice.  Amarilly,  you  were 
glad  to  learn  table  manners  from  Miss  King, 
weren't  you?" 

"Yes;  I  like  to  larn  all  I  kin." 

"Then,  will  you  let  me  teach  you  some- 
thing?" 

"Sure!"  she  acquiesced  quickly. 

"There  are  two  things  you  must  do  for  me. 
[99] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

Never  say  'et';  say  'ate'  instead.  Then  you 
must  say  'can';  not  'kin.'  It  will  be  hard 
to  remember  at  first,  but  every  time  you 
forget  and  make  a  mistake,  remember  to-day 
and  our  jolly  little  luncheon,  will  you?" 

"I  will,  and  I  can,  Mr.  Deny." 

'You're  an  apt  little  pupil,  Amarilly,  and 
I  am  going  to  teach  you  two  words  every 
time  you  come." 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  Amarilly,  brightening. 
"Will  you  want  me  ter  come  agin?" 

"Indeed  I  shall.  I  am  going  away  next 
week  to  the  mountains  for  a  couple  of  months. 
When  I  come  back,  I  am  going  to  have  you 
come  every  morning  at  nine  o'clock.  You 
can  prepare  and  serve  my  simple  breakfast 
and  clean  my  rooms  every  day.  Then  they 
won't  get  so  disreputable.  I  will  pay  you 
what  they  do  at  the  theatre,  and  it  will  not 
be  such  hard  work.  Will  you  enjoy  it  as 
well?" 

"Oh,  better!"  exclaimed  Amarilly. 

And  with  this  naive  admission  died  the 
last  spark  of  Amarilly's  stage-lust. 

"Then  consider  yourself  engaged.  You 
can  call  for  the  surplice  to-morrow  afternoon 
at  this  hour." 

[100] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Deny." 

She  hesitated,  and  then  awkwardly  ex- 
tended her  hand,  which  he  shook  most 
cordially. 

"Thank  you  for  a  day's  entertainment, 
Amarilly.  I  haven't  been  bored  once.  You 
have  very  nice  hands,"  looking  down  at  the 
one  he  still  held. 

She  reddened  and  jerked  her  hand  quickly 
away. 

"Now  you  are  kiddin'!  They're  redder 
than  my  hair,  and  rough  and  big." 

"I  repeat,  Amarilly,  you  have  nice  hands. 
It  isn't  size  and  color  that  counts;  it's  shape, 
and  from  an  artist's  standpoint  you  have 
shapely  hands.  Now  will  you  be  good,  and 
shake  hands  with  me  in  a  perfectly  ladylike 
way?  Thank  you,  Amarilly." 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Deny.  It's  the  beau- 
tifulest  day  I  ever  hed.  Better 'n  the  matinee 
or  the  Guild  or  -  '  she  drew  a  quick  breath 
and  said  in  a  scared  whisper  -  "the  church!" 

"I  am  flattered,  Amarilly.  We  shall  have 
many  ruby -lettered  days  like  it." 


[101] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  next  afternoon  Amarilly  called  at 
the  studio  for  the  surplice. 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you  have  your  hair  fixed 
as  I  told  you,  Amarilly,"  was  Derry's  greet- 
ing. "And  have  you  remembered  the  other 
things  I  told  you?" 

"I  hev  writ  out  'can*  and  'ate'  in  big 
letters  and  pinned  'em  up  on  the  wall.  I 
can  say  'em  right  every  time  now." 

"Of  course  you  can!  And  for  a  reward, 
here's  a  dollar  with  which  to  buy  some  black 
velvet  hair-ribbons.  Never  put  any  color 
but  black  or  brown  near  your  hair,  Amarilly." 

"No,  Mr.  Derry;  but  I  don't  want  to  take 
the  dollar."  :.  : 

"  See  here,  Amarilly !  You're  to  be  my  little 
housemaid,  and  the  uniform  is  always  pro- 
vided. Instead  of  buying  you  a  cap  and 
apron,  I  prefer  to  furnish  velvet  hair-ribbons. 
Take  it,  and  get  a  good  quality  silk  velvet. 
And  now,  good-by  for  two  months.  I  will 
let  you  know  when  I  am  home  so  that  you 
may  begin  on  your  duties." 
[102] 


"Good-by,  Mr.  Deny,"  said  the  little 
girl  artlessly.  "And  thar's  something  I'd 
like  to  say  to  you,  if  you  don't  mind." 

:'You  may  say  anything  —  everything  — 
to  me,  Amarilly." 

"When  you  go  to  eat,  won't  you  order  jest 
as  ef  I  was  with  you  —  nothin'  more?" 

His  fair  boyish  face  reddened  slightly,  and 
then  a  serious  look  came  into  his  dancing  eyes. 

"By  Jove,  Amarilly!  I've  been  wishing 
some  girl  who  really  meant  it,  who  really 
cared,  would  say  that  to  me.  You  put  it 
very  delicately  and  sweetly.  I'll  —  yes,  I'll 
do  it  all  the  time  I'm  gone.  There's  my 
hand  on  it.  Good-by,  Amarilly.  "j 

"Good-by,  Mr.  Derry." 

Amarilly  walked  home  very  slowly,  trying 
to  think  of  a  way  to  realize  again  from  the 
surplice. 

"I'm  afeerd  I  won't  find  a  place  to  rent 
it  right  away,"  she  sighed. 

Looking  up,  she  saw  the  Boarder.  A 
slender,  shy  slip  of  a  girl  had  his  arm,  and 
he  was  gazing  into  her  intent  eyes  with  a 
look  of  adoration. 

"Oh,  the  Boarder  is  in  love!"  gasped 
Amarilly;  her  responsive  little  heart  leaping 
[103] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

in  sympathetic  interest.  "That's  why  he's 
wore  a  blue  necktie  the  last  few  days.  Lord 
Algernon  said  that  was  allers  a  sure  sign." 

She  tactfully  slipped  around  a  corner,  un- 
seen by  the  entranced  couple. 

That  night,  as  he  was  lighting  his  after- 
supper  pipe,  the  Boarder  remarked  casually: 

"I'd  like  to  rent  the  surplus  fer  an  hour 
to-morrer,  Amarilly." 

"Why,  what  on  airth  can  you  do  with  it?" 
was  the  astonished  query. 

The  Boarder  looked  sheepish. 

'You  see,  Amarilly,  I'm  akeepin'  stiddy 
company  with  a  little  gal." 

"I  seen  you  and  her  this  arternoon.  She's 
orful  purty,"  said  Amarilly  reflectively.  "  She 
looked  kinder  delikit,  though.  What's  her 
name?" 

"Lily --Lily  Rose.  Ain't  that  a  purty 
name?" 

"Beautiful.  The  lily  part  jest  suits  her. 
She's  like  a  flower  —  a  white  flower.  But 
what  do  you  want  the  surplus  fer?  " 

;'You  see,"  began  the  Boarder,  coming  by 
circuitous  route  to  his  subject,  "gals  git 
notions  in  their  heads  sometimes  when  they 
air  in- 

[104] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

"Love,"  promptly  supplied  the  compre- 
hending little  girl. 

;'Yes,"  he  assented  with  a  fiery  blush. 
"And  she  wants  fer  me  to  hev  my  likeness 
took  so  I  kin  give  it  to  her." 

"Thar  ain't  nothin'  foolish  about  that!" 
declared  Amarilly. 

"No;  but  I  never  sot  fer  one  yet.  I 
wouldn't  mind,  but  you  see  she's  got  it  in  her 
head  that  I  am  good-looking — " 

"Well,  you  be,"  corroborated  Amarilly 
decisively. 

"And  she  wants  me  fer  to  dress  up  like  a 
preacher.  I  told  her  about  Hallie  Hudgers 
lookin'  so  swell  in  the  surplus,  and  she  wants 
as  I  should  dress  up  in  it  and  set  fer  my  like- 
ness in  it." 

"I  think  it  would  be  fine!"  approved 
Amarilly.  :<You  sure  would  look  nicer  nor 
Hallie  did." 

"Well,  I  wouldn't  look  like  a  dead  one," 
admitted  the  Boarder.  "But  I  was  orful 
afraid  you'd  laugh.  Then  I  kin  rent  it  fer 
an  hour  to-morrer  ef  it  ain't  got  no  other 
dates." 

'You  can't  rent  it.     You  can  take  it  fer  an 
hour,  or  so  long  as  you  like,"  she  assured  him. 
[105] 


"You'll  hev  to  take  a  quarter  anyway, 
fer  luck.  Mebby  'twill  bring  me  luck  awin- 
nin'  her." 

The  photograph  of  the  Boarder  in  saintly 
attire  was  pronounced  a  great  success.  Be- 
fore the  presentation  he  had  it  set  in  a  frame 
made  of  gilt  network  studded  with  shells. 

Lily  Rose  spent  her  leisure  moments  gazing 
upon  it  with  the  dream-centred  eyes  of  a 
young  devotee  before  a  shrine. 

The  next  wearing  of  the  surplice  was  more 
in  accord  with  its  original  design.  In  the 
precinct  adjoining  the  one  in  which  lived  and 
let  live  the  Jenkins  family,  a  colored  Epis- 
copal church  had  recently  been  established. 
The  rector  had  but  one  surplice,  and  that  had 
been  stolen  from  the  clothes-line,  mayhap 
by  one  of  his  dusky  flock;  thus  it  was  that 
Amarilly  received  a  call  from  the  Reverend 
Virgil  Washington,  who  had  heard  of  the 
errant  surplice,  which  he  offered  to  purchase. 

Naturally  his  proposition  was  met  by  a 
firm  and  unalterable  refusal.  It  would  have 
been  like  selling  a  golden  goose  to  dispose  of 
such  a  profitable  commodity.  He  then  asked 
to  rent  it  for  a  Sunday  while  he  was  hav- 
ing one  made.  This  application,  being  quite 
[106] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

in  Amarilly's  line  of  business,  met  with  a 
ready  assent. 

"You  can  hev  it  fer  a  dollar,"  she  offered. 

The  bargain  was  finally  closed,  although 
it  gave  Amarilly  more  than  a  passing  pang 
to  think  of  the  snowy  folds  of  Mr.  St.  John's 
garment  adorning  an  Ethiopian  form. 

One  day  there  came  to  the  Jenkins  home 
a  most  unusual  caller.  The  novel  presence 
of  the  "mailman"  at  their  door  brought 
every  neighbor  to  post  of  observation.  His 
call  was  for  the  purpose  of  leaving  a  gayly- 
colored  postal  card  addressed  to  "Miss  Ama- 
rilly Jenkins."  It  was  from  Derry,  and  she 
spent  many  happy  moments  in  deciphering 
it.  His  writing  was  microscopic,  and  he 
managed  to  convey  a  great  deal  of  information 
in  the  allotted  small  space.  He  inquired 
solicitously  concerning  the  surplice,  and  bade 
her  be  a  good  girl  and  not  forget  the  two  words 
he  had  taught  her.  "I  have  ordered  all  my 
meals  as  though  you  were  with  me,"  he  wrote 
in  conclusion. 

Amarilly    laid    the    card    away    with    her 
wedding   waist.     Then,    with   the   Boarder's 
aid,  she  indited  an  answer  on  a  card  that 
depicted  the  Barlow  Theatre. 
[107] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

The  next  event  for  Amarilly  was  an  invi- 
tation to  attend  the  wedding  of  Mrs.  Hub- 
bleston,  a  buxom,  bustling  widow  for  whom 
Mrs.  Jenkins  washed.  In  delivering  the 
clothes,  Amarilly  had  come  to  be  on  very 
friendly  terms  with  the  big,  light-hearted 
woman,  and  so  she  had  been  asked  to  assist 
in  the  serving  of  refreshments  on  the  eventful 
night. 

"I've  never  been  to  a  wedding,"  said  Ama- 
rilly wistfully.  "I've  been  to  most  every- 
thing else,  and  I  would  like  to  see  you  wed, 
but  I  ain't  got  no  clo'es  'cept  my  hair- 
ribbons." 

Mrs.  Hubbleston  looked  at  her  contempla- 
tively. 

"My  last  husband's  niece's  little  girl  left 
a  dress  here  once  when  she  was  going  home 
after  a  visit.  She  had  hardly  worn  it,  but  she 
had  outgrown  it,  and  her  ma  told  me  to  give 
it  away.  I  had  'most  forgotten  about  it. 
I  believe  it  would  just  fit  you.  Let  us  see." 

She  produced  a  white  dress  that  adjusted 
itself  comfortably  to  Amarilly 's  form. 

:'You  look  real  pretty  in  white,  Amarilly. 
You  shall  have  this  dress  for  your  own." 

On  the  nuptial  night  Amarilly,  clad  in  the 
[108] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

white  gown  and  with  black  velvet  hair-rib- 
bons, went  forth  at  an  early  hour  to  the  house 
of  festivity. 

Mrs.  Hubbleston,  resplendent  in  a  glittering 
jetted  gown,  came  into  the  kitchen  to  see 
that  things  were  progressing  properly. 

"Ain't  you  flustered?"  asked  Amarilly, 
looking  at  her  in  awe. 

"Land,  no,  child!  I  have  been  married 
four  times  before  this,  you  see,  so  it  comes 
natural.  There  goes  the  doorbell.  It  must 
be  Mr.  Jimmels  and  the  minister." 

In  a  few  moments  she  returned  to  the  kit- 
chen for  sympathy. 

"I  am  so  disappointed,"  she  sighed,  "but 
then,  I  might  have  expected  something  would 
happen.  It  always  does  at  my  weddings." 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Amarilly,  apprehen- 
sive lest  the  wedding  might  be  declared  off. 

"I've  been  married  once  by  a  Baptist 
minister,  once  by  a  Methodist,  and  the  third 
time  by  a  Congregationalist;  last  time  a 
Unitarian  tied  the  knot.  So  this  once  I 
thought  I  would  have  an  Episcopal,  because 
their  white  robe  lends  tone.  And  Rev.  Mr. 
Woodthorn  has  come  without  his.  He  says 
he  never  brings  it  to  the  house  weddings  un- 
[109] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

less  specially  requested.    He  lives  clear  across 
the  city,  and  the  carriage  has  gone  away." 

"Oh,  I  have  a  surplus!"  cried  Amarilly 
enthusiastically.  "I'll  telephone  our  grocer. 
Milt's  ahelpin'  him  to-night,  and  he  can  ride 
over  here  on  the  grocer's  wheel  and  fetch  it." 

"Why,  how  in  the  world  did  you  come  by 
such  a  thing  as  a  surplice?"  asked  the  widow 
in  surprise. 

Amarilly  quickly  explained,  and  then  tele- 
phoned to  her  brother. '; 

"He  says  he'll  be  over  here  in  a  jiffy,"  she 
announced.  "And  ain't  it  lucky,  it's  jest 
been  did  up  clean!" 

"My,  but  that's  fortunate!  It'll  be  the 
making  of  my  wedding.  I  shall  give  you  a 
dollar  for  the  use  of  it,  the  same  as  those 
others  did." 

"No!"  objected  Amarilly.  "I'll  be  more 
than  glad  to  let  you  hev  it  arter  your  givin' 
me  this  fine  dress." 

"I'll  have  Mr.  Jimmels  pay  you  for  it.  He 
can  take  a  dollar  out  off  the  fee  for  the  minister. 
It  will  serve  him  right  for  not  bringing  all  his 
trappings  with  him." 

Amarilly's  sense  of  justice  was  appeased 
by  this  arrangement.  She  went  into  the 

[110] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

double  parlors  to  witness  the  ceremony, 
which  gave  her  a  few  little  heart  thrills. 

"Them  words  sounds  orful  nice,"  she 
thought  approvingly.  "The  Boarder  and 
Lily  Rose  must  hev  an  Episcopal  fer  to  marry 
them.  I  wonder  if  I'll  ever  get  to  Miss 
King's  and  Mr.  St.  John's  weddin'  or  Mr. 
Berry's;  but  I  guess  he'll  never  be  married. 
He  jokes  too  much  to  be  thinkin'  of  sech 
things."  Then  came  the  thought  of  her  own 
wedding  garment  awaiting  its  destiny. 

"I  ain't  even  hed  a  beau,  yet,"  she  sighed, 
"but  the  Boarder  says  that  I  will --that 
red-headed  girls  ain't  never  old  maids  from 
ch'ice." 

With  this  sustaining  thought,  she  proceeded 
to  the  dining-room.  She  had  been  taught  at 
the  Guild  how  to  wait  on  table,  and  she  proved 
herself  to  be  very  deft  and  capable  in  put- 
ting her  instructions  into  effect. 

"Here's  two  dollars,"  the  complacent  bride 
said  to  Amarilly  before  departing.  "One  is 
for  serving  so  nicely,  and  one  is  for  the  sur- 
plice. I  told  them  in  the  kitchen  to  put  you 
up  a  basket  of  things  to  take  home  to  the 
children." 

Amarilly  thanked  her  profusely  and  then 
[1111 


went  home.  She  deposited  her  two  dollars 
in  the  family  exchequer,  and  proceeded  to 
distribute  the  contents  of  the  basket. 

"Now,  set  around  the  table  here,  and  take 
what  I  give  you.  Thar  ain't  enough  of  one 
thing  to  go  hull  way  round,  except  fer  ma. 
She's  agoin'  to  hev  some  of  each.  Yes,  you 
be,  ma.  This  here  baskit's  mine.  Here's 
a  sandwich,  some  chicken,  salid,  jell,  two 
kinds  of  cake,  and  some  ice-cream  fer  you. 
Bud  can  hev  first  pick  now,  'cause  he  ain't 
so  strong  as  the  rest  of  you.  All  right,  Bud; 
take  the  rest  of  the  ice-cream  and  some  cake." 
'Tain't  fair!  I'm  a  girl,  and  I'm  younger 
than  Bud.  I'd  orter  choose  first,"  sobbed  Cory. 

"Shut  up,  Co!  You'll  wake  Iry,  and  then 
he'll  hev  to  hev  something,  and  if  he  sleeps 
right  through,  thar'll  be  jest  so  much  more 
fer  you.  'T won't  hurt  him  to  miss  what  he 
don't  know  about.  All  right,  Cory,  you  can 
hev  cake  and  jell.  That's  a  good  boy,  Bud, 
to  give  her  two  tastes  of  the  cream,  and  ma'll 
give  you  two  more.  Bobby?  Sandwiches  and 
pickle.  Milt?  Chicken  and  salid.  Flammy 
and  Gus,  pickle  and  sandwich  is  all  that's 
left  fer  you.  The  rest  of  this  chicken  is 
agoin'  into  the  Boarder's  dinner  pail  tomorrer." 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 


CHAPTER  XI 

MILTON  came  home  from  the  grocery 
one  night  with  a  telephone  message 
from  Mr.  Vedder  requesting  Amarilly  to  bring 
the  surplice  to  his  rooms  on  the  next  day. 

"How  is  business?"  asked  the  ticket- 
seller  kindly,  when  the  little  girl  appeared  in 
answer  to  his  summons. 

"Fine!  The  surplus  has  brung  in  nine 
dollars  and  seventy-five  cents  a'ready.  It's 
kept  things  goin'." 

"The  theatre  will  open  in  a  couple  of  weeks, 
and  then  you  will  have  steady  work,  though 
I  wish  we  might  get  an  easier  and  pleasanter 
occupation  for  you." 

"I'm  agoin'  to  hev  one,  Mr.  Vedder," 
and  she  proceeded  to  tell  him  of  Deny  and 
her  engagement  at  his  studio. 

"It  kinder  seems  as  if  I  b'longed  to  the 
theayter,  and  you've  been  so  orful  kind  to 
me,  Mr.  Vedder,  that  it'll  seem  strange-like 
not  to  be  here,  but  Mr.  Phillips's  work'll  be 
a  snap  fer  me." 

:<  You've  been  a  good,  faithful  little  girl, 
[113] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

Amarilly,  and  I  shall  want  to  keep  track  of 
you  and  see  you  occasionally,  so  I  am  going 
to  give  you  a  pass  to  every  Saturday  matinee 
during  the  winter." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Vedder,  there's  been  no  one  so 
good  as  you've  been  to  me!  And  you  never 
laugh  at  me  like  other  folks  do." 

"No,  indeed,  child!  Why  should  I?  But 
I  never  knew  before  that  you  had  such 
beautiful  hair!" 

"It's  'cause  it's  fixed  better,"  said  Amarilly 
with  a  blush.  "But  who  wants  the  surplus 
this  time?  " 

"I  do,"  he  replied  smiling.  "I  am  in- 
vited to  a  sheet  and  pillow-case  party.  I 
thought  this  surplice  would  be  more  com- 
fortable than  a  sheet.  Here's  a  dollar  for  it." 

"No,"  declined  Amarilly  firmly.  "Not 
arter  all  you've  done  fer  us.  I  won't  take  it." 

"Amarilly,"  he  said  earnestly.  "I  have 
no  one  in  the  world  to  do  anything  for,  and 
sometimes,  when  I  get  to  thinking  about  it, 
I  am  very  lonely.  So  if  you  want  to  be 
kind  to  me,  you  will  give  me  the  pleasure  of 
helping  you  a  little  now  and  then.  I  shall 
not  enjoy  the  party  unless  you  will  take  the 
money." 

[114] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

Amarilly  cried  a  little  that  night,  thinking 
how  good  he  was. 

"I  hed  orter  like  him  best  of  all,"  she 
thought  reproachfully. 

Two  or  three  days  later  Pete  Noyes  came 
to  the  house. 

" Hello,  Amarilly!  I  ain't  seen  yer  in  so 
long  I'd  fergit  how  you  looked.  Say,  why 
didn't  you  ever  fix  yer  hair  that  way  afore? 
It  looks  swell,  even  if  it  is  red!" 

"I  am  older  now,"  she  explained  in  superior, 
lofty  tones,  "and  of  course  I  hev  to  think 
more  about  my  looks  than  I  used  ter." 

He  gazed  at  her  with  such  ardent  admira- 
tion that  she  was  seized  with  an  impulse  to 
don  her  white  dress  and  impress  his  young 
fancy  still  further. 

"He  ain't  wuth  it,  though,"  her  sober 
second  thought  decided. 

"What  does  yer  think  I  come  fer,  Ama- 
rilly?" 

"I  dunno,  'less  Mr.  Vedder  sent  you." 

"He  did,  sorter.  You  see,  I'm  invited  to 
one  of  them  kind  of  parties  whar  you  dress 
up  ter  be  the  name  of  a  book.  One  of  the 
stock  company  is  givin'  it  fer  her  kids.  I 
don't  know  the  name  of  any  book  except 
[115] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

Diamond  Dick  and  The  Curse  of  Gold,  and  I 
didn't  know  how  to  rig  up  fer  them.  I  went 
to  Vedder,  and  he  sez  thar's  a  book  what's 
called  The  Little  Minister,  and  I  could  rent 
yer  surplus  and  tog  out  in  it.  He  said  you 
would  take  tucks  in  it  fer  me." 

"Sure  I  will.  I'll  fix  it  now  while  you 
wait,  Pete." 

"Say,  Amarilly,  I  thought  as  how,  seein' 
we  are  both  in  the  perfesshun,  sorter,  you'd 
come  down  on  your  price." 

"Sure  thing,  Pete.  I  won't  charge  you 
nothin'  fer  it." 

"Yes;  I  wanter  pay.  I'll  tell  you  what, 
Amarilly,  couldn't  you  take  it  out  in  gum? 
I  hed  a  hull  lot  left  over  when  the  theayter 
shut  down.  It'll  git  stale  ef  I  keep  it  much 
longer,  and  I'd  like  to  git  some  of  it  off  en  my 
hands." 

"Sure,  I  will,  Pete.  We  all  like  gum,  and 
we  can't  afford  to  buy  it  very  often.  That'll 
be  dandy." 

Thus  it  was  that  for  the  next  fortnight  the 
Jenkins  family  revelled  in  the  indulgence  of 
a  hitherto  denied  but  dearly  prized  luxury. 
Their  jaws  worked  constantly  and  joyously, 
although  differently.  Mrs.  Jenkins,  by  rea- 
[116] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

son  of  depending  upon  her  third  set  of  teeth, 
chewed  cautiously  and  with  camel-like  pre- 
cision. The  Boarder,  having  had  long  prac- 
tice in  the  art,  craunched  at  railway  speed. 
The  older  boys  munched  steadily  and  easily, 
while  Bud  and  Bobby  pecked  intermittently 
in  short  nibbles.  Amarilly  had  the  "star 
method,"  which  they  all  vainly  tried  to  emu- 
late. At  sho,rt  and  regular  intervals  a  torpedo- 
like  report  issued  from  the  gum  as  she  snapped 
her  teeth  down  upon  it.  Cory  kept  hers 
strung  out  elastically  from  her  mouth,  occa- 
sionally rolling  it  back. 

The  liberal  supply  of  the  luxury  rapidly 
diminished,  owing  to  the  fact  that  Try  swal- 
lowed his  allowance  after  ineffectual  efforts 
to  retain  it  in  his  mouth,  and  then  like  Oliver 
Twist  pleaded  for  more. 

"I  declare  fer  it!"  remarked  Mrs.  Hudgers 
to  Amarilly.  "That  child's  insides  will  all 
be  stuck  together.  I  should  think  yer  ma 
would  be  afeard  to  let  him  chaw  so  much." 

"He's  ateethin',  and  it  sorter  soothes  his 
gums,"  explained  Amarilly. 

During  the  summer  season,  Pete  had  pur- 
sued his  profession  at  a  vaudeville  theatre, 
and  one  day,  not  long  after  his  literary  repre- 
[117] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

sentation,   he  came  to  Amarilly   with   some 
good  tidings. 

"I  hev  another  job  fer  yer  surplus.  Down 
to  the  vawdyville  they're  goin'  to  put  on  a 
piece  what  has  a  preacher  in  it,  and  I  tole 
them  about  yer  surplus,  and  the  leadin'  man, 
who  is  to  be  the  preacher,  says  'twould  lend 
to  the  settin's  to  wear  it.  I  told  him  mebby 
you'd  let  him  hev  the  use  on  it  fer  a  week  fer 
five  dollars.  He  said  he  could  buy  the  stuff  and 
make  a  dozen  fer  that  price,  but  they  gotter 
start  the  piece  to-night  so  that'd  be  no  time  to 
make  one.  I'll  take  it  down  to  them  to-night." 

This  was  the  longest  and  most  remunera- 
tive act  of  the  surplice,  and  served  to  pay 
for  a  very  long  accruing  milk  bill.  When 
the  engagement  at  the  vaudeville  ended,  the 
Boarder  came  to  the  rescue. 

"Thar's  a  friend  of  mine  what  brakes,  and 
he  wants  the  surplus  to  wear  to  a  maskyrade. 
I  told  him  he  could  go  as  a  preacher.  He's 
asavin'  to  git  merried,  so  he  don't  want  to 
give  much." 

"He  shell  hev  it  fer  a  quarter,"  said  Ama- 
rilly, friend  to  all  lovers,  "and  I'll  lend  him  a 
mask.  I  hev  one  the  property  man  at  the 
theayter  give  me." 

[118] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 


CHAPTER  XII 

I  WONDER,"  meditated  Gus,  "where  the 
surplus  will  land  next?" 

"It  has  been  most  everywhere  except  to 
the  police  court,"  said  Bobby.  '  'Spect  'twill 
land  there  next ! " 

His  prophecy  was  fulfilled.  Mrs.  Jenkins 
washed  the  lucrative  garment  late  one  after- 
noon and  left  it  on  the  line  all  night.  The 
next  morning,  to  the  great  consternation  of 
the  family  and  the  wild  distress  of  Amarilly, 
the  beloved  surplice,  that  friend  of  friends  in 
time  of  need,  had  vanished.  Other  clothes- 
lines in  the  vicinity  had  also  been  deprived 
of  their  burdens,  and  a  concerted  complaint 
was  made  to  the  police,  who  promptly 
located  the  offender  and  brought  him  sum- 
marily to  trial.  Mrs.  Jenkins  was  subpoenaed 
as  a  witness,  which  caused  quite  a  ripple 
of  excitement  in  the  family.  Divided  be- 
tween dread  of  appearing  in  public  and  pride 
at  the  importance  with  which  she  was  re- 
garded by  her  little  flock,  Mrs.  Jenkins  was 
quite  upset  by  the  occasion.  She  hadn't 
[119] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

attended  a  function  for  so  long  that  her 
costuming  therefor  was  of  more  concern 
than  had  been  Amarilly's  church  raiment. 

Mrs.  Hudgers  loaned  her  mourning  bonnet 
and  veil,  which  was  adjusted  at  half  mast. 
They  appeared  in  direct  contradiction  to  the 
skirt  of  bilious  green  she  wore,  but  the 
Jenkinses  were  as  unconventional  in  attire  as 
they  were  in  other  things. 

The  family  attended  the  trial  en  masse, 
and  were  greatly  elated  at  the  prominence 
their  mother  had  attained.  The  culprit  was 
convicted  and  the  surplice  duly  restored. 
The  misfortune  was  not  without  profit.  Mrs. 
Jenkins  received  thirty-five  cents  as  a  wit- 
ness fee. 

They  had  managed  to  pay  their  household 
expenses  through  the  summer,  but  when  the 
rent  for  August  was  due  there  was  not  quite 
enough  cash  on  hand  to  meet  this  important 
item  of  expenditure.  Noting  the  troubled 
brows  of  Mrs.  Jenkins  and  Amarilly  at  break- 
fast time,  the  Boarder  insisted  on  knowing 
the  cause. 

"We're  broke,  and  the  rent's  overdue,'* 
tersely  explained  Amarilly. 

"I'm  broke,  too,"  sighed  the  Boarder,  "ex- 
[120] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

cept    what    I've    got    in    the    savin's    bank 
towards  - 

"Lily  Rose,"  suggested  Amarilly  softly. 

'Yes,"  he  admitted,  with  a  beaming  look. 
"But  when  I  go  broke,  all  other  things  failin', 
I  allers  tackle  a  pawnbroker." 

"We  ain't  got  nothin'  to  pawn,"  sighed 
Amarilly. 

She  recalled  the  lace  waist,  but  that,  like 
the  Lily  Rose  fund,  was  sacred.  There  was 
always,  to-day,  yesterday,  and  forever,  the 
surplice,  and  her  scruples  regarding  that 
article  had  of  necessity  become  case-hardened; 
still,  Amarilly  hesitated.  A  pawnshop  seemed 
lower  than  a  police  court. 

"It's  been  everywhere  else,"  she  said 
loudly  to  the  accusing,  still,  small  voice, 
"and  it  might  jest  as  well  go  the  limit.  'T 
won't  bring  much,  but  't  will  help." 

Through  byways  and  highways  Amarilly 
sought  the  region  of  the  three-balled  porticoes. 
The  shop  of  one  Max  Solstein  attracted  her, 
and  she  entered  his  open  door.  Max,  rat- 
eyed  and  frog-mouthed,  came  forward  propi- 
tiatingly. 

"What'll  you  gimme  on  this?"  came  with 
directness  from  the  small  importuner. 
[121] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

He  took  the  garment,  shook  it,  and  held  it 
up  for  falcon-gaze  inspection. 

"Not  worth  much.     A  quarter  of  a  dollar." 

Amarilly  snatched  it  from  his  grasp  and 
fled.  Not  because  of  his  low-figured  offer; 
she  had  fully  expected  to  have  to  "beat  him 
up.'*  But  when  she  had  entered,  a  youth 
who  had  all  the  recognized  earmarks  of  a 
reporter  was  lounging  in  the  doorway.  At 
sight  of  the  uplifted  garment  he  had  come 
eagerly  forward,  scenting  a  story.  She  knew 
his  kind  from  snatches  of  conversation  she 
had  heard  between  the  leading  lady  and 
Lord  Algernon.  In  the  lore  of  the  stage  at 
Barlow's,  reporters  were  "hovering  vultures" 
who  always  dropped  down  when  least  wanted, 
and  they  had  a  way  of  dragging  to  light  the 
innermost  thoughts  of  their  victims. 

'You  read  your  secrets,"  Lord  Algernon 
had  dramatically  declared,  "in  blazoned  head- 
lines." 

Hitherto  Amarilly  had  effectually  silenced 
her  instinctive  rebellion  against  the  profaning 
of  St.  John's  surplice,  but  she  had  reached 
the  limit.  No  Max  Solstein,  no  threatening 
landlord,  no  ruthless  reporter  should  thrust 
the  sacred  surplice  into  the  publicity  of  print. 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

She  darted  from  the  shop,  the  reporter  right 
at  her  heels,  but  the  chasing  of  his  covey  to 
corner  was  not  easily  accomplished.  He  was 
a  newly  fledged  reporter,  and  Amarilly  had 
all  the  instinct  of  the  lowly  for  localities. 
She  turned  and  doubled  and  dodged  success- 
fully. By  a  course  circuitous  she  returned 
to  Hebrew  haunts,  this  time  to  seek  one 
Abram  Canter,  a  little  wizened,  gnome-like 
Jew.  Assuring  herself  that  there  was  no 
other  than  the  proprietor  within,  Amarilly 
entered  and  handed  over  the  surplice  for 
appraisal. 

Once  more  the  garment  was  held  aloft.  At 
that  psychological  moment  an  elderly  man 
of  buxom  build,  benevolent  in  mien,  and  with 
smooth,  long  hair  that  had  an  upward  rolling 
tendency  at  the  ends,  looked  in  the  shop  as 
he  was  passing.  He  halted,  hesitated,  and 
then  entered.  Of  him,  however,  Amarilly 
felt  no  apprehension. 

"Looks  like  Quaker  Oats,  or  mebby  it's 
the  Jack  otf  Spades,"  she  thought  after  a 
searching  survey. 

"My  child,  is  that  yours?"  he  asked  of 
Amarilly,  indicating  the  garment  by  a  pro- 
testing forefinger. 

[  123] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

"Sure  thing!"   she  acknowledged  frankly. 

"Where  did  you  get  it?" 

If  he  had  been  a  young  man,  Amarilly 
would  have  cheerfully  reminded  him  that  it 
was  none  of  his  business,  but,  a  respecter  of 
age,  she  loftily  informed  him  that  it  had  been 
"give  to  her." 

"By  whom?"  he  persisted. 

Perceiving  her  reluctance  to  answer,  he 
added  gently: 

"I  am  a  bishop  of  the  Episcopal  Church, 
and  I  cannot  endure  to  see  a  surplice  in  such 
a  place  as  this." 

A  bishop!  This  was  worse  than  a  reporter 
even.  St.  John  would  surely  hear  of  it! 
But  she  felt  that  an  explanation  was  due  the 
calling  of  her  interlocutor. 

She  lifted  righteous  eyes  to  his. 

"My  mother  works  for  one  of  the  churches, 
and  the  minister,  he  give  us  this  to  cut  up 
into  clo'es  fer  the  chillern,  but  we  didn't  cut 
it  up.  I'm  agoin'  to  leave  it  here  till  the 
rent's  paid,  and  we  git  the  money  to  take  it 
outen  hock." 

The  bishop's  eyes  softened,  and  lost  their 
look  of  shocked  dignity. 

"I  will  advance  you  the  money,"  he 
[124] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

offered.  "I  would  much  prefer  to  do  so  than 
to  have  it  left  here.  How  much  money  do 
you  need  to  pay  your  rent?" 

"We  need  five  dollars,"  said  Amarilly,  "to 
pay  the  balance  of  it.  But  I  wouldn't  take 
it  from  you.  I  ain't  no  beggar.  I  don't 
believe,  nuther,"  she  continued,  half  to  her- 
self, "that  Mr.  St.  John  would  like  it." 

"Who  is  Mr.  St.  John?"  he  asked  curiously. 
"I  know  of  no  such  rector  in  this  diocese. 
My  child,  you  have  an  honest  face.  Since 
you  won't  accept  a  gift  of  money,  I  will  lend 
you  the  amount.  I  want  you  to  tell  me  all 
about  yourself  and  this  surplice." 

"Well,  mebby  he'd  want  me  to,"  reflected 
Amarilly. 

"Gimme  back  that  surplus,"  she  said  to 
the  Jew,  who  seemed  loath  to  relinquish  his 
booty. 

As  she  walked  up  the  street  with  the  bishop, 
she  frankly  related  the  family  history  and  the 
part  Mr.  Meredith  and  the  surplice  had  played 
therein. 

The  bishop  had  generous  instincts,  and  a 
desire  to  reach  the  needy  directly  instead  of 
through  the  medium  of  institutions,  but  he 
had  never  known  just  how  to  approach  them. 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

His  presence  in  this  unknown  part  of  the 
city  had  been  unpremeditated,  but  he  wel- 
comed the  chance  that  had  led  his  steps 
hither  to  perform  an  errand  of  mercy.  He 
handed  Amarilly  five  dollars,  and  wrote  down 
her  address.  He  was  most  reluctant  to  re- 
ceive the  surplice  as  security,  but  Amarilly 's 
firm  insistence  was  not  to  be  overcome.  She 
returned  home,  rejoicing  in  the  knowledge 
that  she  had  the  price  of  their  happy  home 
in  her  pocket.  The  bishop  had  given  her  his 
card,  which  she  laid  in  a  china  saucer  with 
other  bits  of  pasteboard  she  had  collected 
from  Deny  Phillips,  Mr.  Vedder,  and  Pete 
Noyes.  The  saucer  adorned  a  small  stand  in 
the  dining-room  part  of  the  house. 

"It's  the  way  Mrs.  Hubbleston  kep*  her 
keerds,"  Amarilly  explained  to  the  family. 

Meantime  the  bishop  was  walking  in  an 
opposite  direction  toward  his  home,  wonder- 
ing if  he  should  find  he  was  mistaken  in  his 
estimate  of  human  nature;  and  a  query  arose 
in  his  mind  as  to  what  he  should  do  with  the 
surplice  if  it  were  left  on  his  hands. 


[126] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 


CHAPTER  XIII 

BUD  sat  in  the  park,  —  Clothes-line  Park, 
Amarilly  had  dubbed  it  —  one  Monday 
afternoon,  singing  a  song  of  gladness.  The 
park  was  confined  by  a  clothes-line  stretched 
between  three  tottering  poles  and  the  one 
solitary  poplar  tree  of  the  Jenkins  estate. 
The  line  was  hung  with  white  linen  garments, 
and  smaller  articles  adorned  the  grass  plot 
within  the  park. 

This  to  Bud  was  the  most  beautiful  spot 
in  the  world.  He  looked  up  into  the  sap- 
phire blue  of  the  sky  flecked  with  soft  patches 
of  white,  then  down  upon  the  waving  grass 
latticed  by  sun  and  shade;  he  listened  to  the 
soothing  rustle  of  the  poplar  leaves,  the 
soft  napping  of  linen  in  the  breeze,  the  birds 
in  the  tree  tops,  and  felt  his  heart  and  throat 
bursting  with  all  the  harmony  and  melody 
about  him.  Not  always  was  Bud's  refrain 
one  of  joy.  There  were  songs  of  sorrow  on 
the  damp  days  when  the  washings  must  be 
dried  within  the  house,  and  he  could  not 
[127] 


venture  forth  because  he  still  was  regarded 
as  the  delicate  one  of  the  family.  There 
were  days,  too,  when  the  number  of  garments 
was  not  adequate  to  complete  the  boundary 
to  the  park,  and  that  meant  less  to  eat  and 
worry  about  the  rent  and  a  harassed  look  in 
his  mother's  anxious  eyes. 

But  there  was  no  sob  in  Bud's  song  this 
afternoon.  The  clothes  had  been  hung  out 
unusually  early,  and  were  nearly  dry,  so  his 
mother  had  brought  out  her  little  lean-back 
rocker  and  sat  beside  him  for  a  few  moments 
to  listen  to  his  carol  and  to  hark  back  to  the 
days  when  his  lusty-voiced  father  had  sung 
to  her  in  the  shadows  of  a  vine-clad  porch. 

It  was  not  upon  Amarilly,  the  sharer  of  her 
burdens,  nor  upon  the  baby  that  Mrs. 
Jenkins  lavished  her  tenderness.  Bud  crept 
closest  because  he  had  been  the  one  most 
dependent  upon  her  care. 

When  the  little  singer  ceased,  the  mother 
arose  and  unpinned  the  garments,  carrying 
them  in  armfuls  to  the  huge  basket  in  the 
middle  of  the  park.  Bud  watched  her  thin, 
fatigued  hands  as  they  performed  their  ac- 
customed task,  and  a  sudden  inspiration 
came  to  him.  His  future  field  of  labor  had 
[128] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

troubled  him.  Now  his  way  seemed  clear. 
He  stepped  nimbly  to  the  grass  plot  and 
gathered  up  the  pieces  spread  thereon. 

"Ma,"  he  said,  as  they  met  at  the  basket, 
"I've  jest  thought  what  I  kin  do,  when  I 
grow  up,  to  support  you." 

"What  is  it,  Bud?"  she  asked  interestedly. 

;'The  teacher  said  we  must  plan  to  do  what 
we  knew  the  most  about.  I  know  more 
about  washin'  than  anything  else." 

:<  You'd  orter,"  she  replied  with  a  sigh. 

"I  kin  run  a  laundry,"  he  declared. 

"That  would  be  a  fine  business." 

Happy  in  the  hope  of  this  new  horoscope, 
Bud  resumed  his  seat  in  the  amphitheatre, 
and  in  a  voice  of  clarion  clearness  ecstatically 
rendered  one  of  the  hymns  he  had  learned  at 
St.  Mark's.  Ever  since  he  had  become  a 
member  of  the  choir,  Clothes-line  Park  had 
rung  with  echoes  of  the  Jubilate  and  Venite 
instead  of  the  popular  old-time  school  airs. 
The  wringer  was  turned  to  the  tune  of  a 
Te  Deum,  the  clothes  were  rubbed  to  the 
rhythm  of  a  Benedictus,  and  the  floor  mopped 
to  the  melody  of  a  Magnificat. 

On  the  happy,  by-gone  Thursdays,  cloistered 
by  snow-white  surplices,  with  the  little  chor- 
[  129  ] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

ister  enthroned  in  the  midst,  Clothes-line 
Park  had  seemed  a  veritable  White  Chapel. 

Bud  was  snatched  from  his  carols  by  the 
arrival  of  Amarilly,  who  was  far  too  practical 
to  hearken  to  hymns  when  there  was  work  to 
be  performed. 

"I  got  the  money  Miss  Ormsby's  owed  us 
so  long,"  she  announced  in  a  tone  of  satis- 
faction, "and  that  jest  makes  up  the  money 
to  git  back  the  surplus.  I'll  give  you  car- 
fare one  way,  Bud,  and  you  must  go  to  the 
bishop's  and  git  it.  I'm  too  beat  to  go. 
I've  walked  most  five  miles  sence  dinner." 

Bud  was  scoured  and  brushed,  the  pocket 
of  his  blouse  tagged  with  a  five-dollar  bill 
carefully  secured  by  a  safety  pin,  and  he 
started  on  his  way  for  the  address  Amarilly 
had  given  him.  He  stopped  at  the  corner 
drug  store  to  spend  his  car-fare  for  an  ice- 
cream soda. 

When  the  lad's  quest  was  repeated  to  the 
bishop  by  his  housekeeper,  he  instructed  her 
to  send  Bud  up  to  the  library,  being  kindly- 
disposed  towards  all  boy-kind.  While  he 
was  questioning  his  young  visitor,  the  organ 
of  Grace  Church,  which  was  next  to  the 
bishop's  house,  pealed  forth,  and  a  man's 
[130] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

voice  began  to  chant  a  selection  from  an 
oratorio  Bud  had  learned  at  St.  Mark's. 
A  high,  childish  soprano  voice  was  essaying 
to  carry  the  sustained  note  an  octave  above 
the  man's  voice;  once  it  sharped. 

"Oh!"  shuddered  Bud  in  dismay.  "He 
can't  keep  the  tune." 

"He  isn't  our  regular  soloist,"  explained 
the  bishop  apologetically.  "He  is  ill,  and 
this  boy  is  trying  to  learn  the  part  for  an 
organ  recital  to  be  given  next  week." 

Again  the  choirmaster's  voice,  patient  and 
wearied,  began  the  refrain.  v  Instinctively 
Bud's  little  chest  swelled,  and  involuntarily 
his  clear,  high  treble  took  the  note  and  sus- 
tained it  without  break  through  the  measures, 
and  then  triumphantly  broke  into  the  solo. 
The  bishop's  eyes  shone. 

"Come,"  he  said,  rising  and  going  towards 
the  door,  "come  with  me." 

Wonderingly  and  obediently,  Bud  followed 
him  into  the  church  and  up  to  the  organ 
where  the  choirmaster  sat. 

'This  is  one  of  the  boys  from  St.  Mark's. 
Try  him  on  the  solo.  He  just  sang  it 
for  me." 

"I  thought  I  heard  it  sung  just  now,  but  I 
[131] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

feared  it  was  only  an  echo  of  my  dreams. 
Let  me  hear  you  again,  my  lad." 

Easily  and  confidently  Bud  attacked  the 
high  C  in  alt.  At  the  end  of  the  solo,  the 
long-suffering  choirmaster  looked  as  if  he 
were  an  Orpheus,  who  had  found  his  Eurydice. 

"Who  taught  you  to  sing  that  solo?"  he 
demanded. 

"My  school  teacher.  She  is  studying  fer 
an  opery  singer,  and  she  helps  me  with  my 
Sunday  singing." 

"I  thought  the  style  was  a  little  florid  for 
the  organist  of  St.  Mark's,"  said  the  choir- 
master whimsically.  "My  boy,  if  you  will 
sing  it  for  us  at  the  recital  as  well  as  you  did 
just  now,  you  shall  have  ten  dollars." 

The  laundry  now  loomed  as  a  fixed  star  in 
Bud's  firmament.  When  he  went  home  and 
told  his  mother  the  good  news  she  moved 
joyfully  among  her  mops  and  tubs.  The  turn 
of  the  wringer  never  seemed  so  easy,  and  she 
frequently  paused  in  the  rubbing  of  a  soaped 
garment  to  wring  the  suds  from  her  swollen 
hands  and  listen  anew  to  the  recital  of  Bud's 
call  upon  the  bishop  and  the  choirmaster  of 
Grace  Church. 

[  132] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  next  day  the  flood-tide  of  the 
Jenkins's  fortunes  bid  fair  to  flow  to 
fullness.  Word  came  to  the  little  home  that 
Mr.  Meredith  had  returned  to  the  city  and 
desired  the  laundry  work  to  be  resumed. 
Bud  was  summoned  to  choir  practice  the 
following  Friday,  and  Miss  King  sent  her 
chauffeur  with  a  fair-sized  washing. 

"Everything  comes  so  to  onct,  it  takes  your 
breath  away,"  said  Amarilly,  quite  overcome 
by  this  renewal  of  commercial  activity,  "and 
next  thing  I  know,"-  -  .there  her  heart  gave  a 
deer-like  leap-  "Mr.  Derry'll  be  hum,  and 
sendin'  fer  me.  Then  we'll  all  be  earnin' 
excep'  Gus." 

At  the  end  of  the  week  Amarilly  eagerly 
went  to  deliver  the  washings  at  the  rectory 
and  Miss  King's,  but  in  both  instances  she 
was  doomed  to  disappointment,  as  her  friends 
were  not  in. 

"I'll  go  to  church  and  see  'em,"  she  re- 
solved. .  , 

[133] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

This  time  her  raiment  was  very  simple,  but 
more  effective  than  upon  the  occasion  of  her 
previous  attendance. 

Before  Amarilly's  artistic  temperament  was 
awakened  by  the  atmosphere  of  the  studio, 
she  had  been  wont  to  array  herself  in  things 
convenient  without  regard  to  color  or  style, 
believing  herself  to  be  hopelessly  homely  and 
beyond  the  aid  of  personal  adornment;  but 
since  Derry  had  praised  her  hair,  she  had 
scrupulously  cared  for  it  and  allowed  no  con- 
flicting color  in  proximity  thereto.  On  this 
occasion  she  fastened  it  with  the  black  velvet 
bows,  and  arrayed  herself  in  the  white  dress 
Mrs.  Jimmels  had  given  her. 

"I  declar,  Amarilly,"  exclaimed  her  mother, 
"I  believe  you're  agrowin'  purty!" 

Amarilly's  eyes  danced,  and  she  gave 
her  mother  a  spontaneous  and  rewarding 
hug. 

She  didn't  do  her  own  ushering  this  time, 
and  was  consequently  seated  most  inconspi- 
cuously near  the  entrance.  Her  heart  beat 
rapturously  at  the  sight  of  John  Meredith 
in  the  pulpit. 

"His  vacation  didn't  freshen  him  up  much," 
she  thought,  after  a  shrewd  glance.  "He's 
[134] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

paler  and  don't  look  real  peart.  Sorter  like 
Bud  arter  he  got  up  from  the  fever." 

Her  attention  was  diverted  from  the  rector 
by  the  vision  of  Colette  coming  down  the 
aisle.  The  change  in  her  appearance  was 
even  more  startling  to  the  little  anxious- 
eyed  girl  than  in  John's  case.  There  were 
violet  shadows  under  the  bright  eyes,  a  subtle, 
subdued  air  about  her  fresh  young  beauty 
that  had  banished  the  little  touch  of  wilfulness. 
As  soon  as  she  was  seated,  which  was  after 
the  service  had  begun,  she  became  entirely 
absorbed  in  her  prayer-book. 

"Vacation  ain't  agreed  with  her,  nuther," 
pondered  Amarilly  perplexedly. 

She  turned  her  gaze  again  to  John,  who 
was  sitting  back  of  the  choir,  while  his 
"understudy"  conducted  the  service.  His 
face  was  shaded  by  his  hand,  but  Amarilly 's 
gimlet  glance  noted  that  he  frequently  sent 
a  fleeting,  troubled  look  toward  the  King  pew. 

'Thar's  something  up  atwixt  'em,"  de- 
duced Amarilly,  "and  they  air  both  too  proud 
to  say  nuthin'  about  it  to  the  other." 

John's  sermon  was  on  the  strength  that 
renunciation  brings,  and  the  duty  of  learning 
resignation.  There  was  a  pervasive  note 
[135J 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

of  sadness  in  his  deliverance  of  the  theme, 
and  Amarilly  felt  her  joyousness  in  the 
return  of  her  friends  slipping  from  her. 

She  went  out  of  church  somewhat  depressed, 
but  was  cheered  by  the  handclasp  of  the 
rector  and  his  earnest  assurance  that  he 
would  see  her  very  soon.  While  he  was 
saying  this,  Colette  slipped  past  without 
vouchsafing  so  much  as  a  glance  hi  their 
direction.  Hurt  through  and  through,  the 
little  girl  walked  sadly  to  the  pavement  with 
head  and  eyes  downcast. 

"Amarilly/'  dulcetly  spoke  a  well-loved 
voice. 

Her  eyes  turned  quickly.  Colette  stood 
at  the  curb,  her  hand  on  the  door  of  the 
electric. 

"I  waited  to  take  you  home,  dear.  Why, 
what's  the  matter,  Amarilly?  Tears?" 

"I  thought  you  wan't  goin'  to  speak  to 
me,"  said  Amarilly,  as  she  stepped  into  the 
brougham  and  took  the  seat  beside  Colette. 

"I  didn't  want  to  interrupt  you  and  Mr. 
Meredith,  but  it's  a  wonder  I  knew  you. 
You  look  so  different.  You  have  grown  so 
tall,  and  what  a  beautiful  dress!  Who  showed 
you  how  to  fix  your  hair  so  artistically?  I 
[136] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

never   realized  you  had  such  beautiful  hair, 
child!" 

"I  didn't  nuther,  till  he  told  me." 

"Who,  Amarilly?  Lord  Algernon?" 

"No!"  scoffed  Amarilly,  suddenly  realiz- 
ing that  her  former  hero  had  toppled  from 
his  pedestal  in  her  thoughts.  'Tain't  him. 
It's  a  new  friend  I  have  made.  An  artist." 

"Oh,  Amarilly,  you  have  such  distinguished 
acquaintances!  All  in  the  profession,  too. 
Tell  me  who  the  artist  is." 

"Mr.  Deny  Phillips.  I  cleaned  his  rooms, 
and  he  took  me  to  lunch.  We  ate  things  like 
we  had  to  your  house." 

"Deny  Phillips,  the  talented  young  art- 
ist!" Why,  Amarilly,  girls  are  tumbling  over 
each  other  trying  to  get  attention  from  him, 
and  he  took  you  to  luncheon!  Where?" 

"To  Carter's,  and  I'm  to  serve  his  break- 
fast and  take  care  of  his  rooms,  and  he  showed 
me  how  to  fix  my  hair  and  to  say  'can'  and 
'ate.'  He's  fired  the  woman  what  red  his 
rooms." 

''Merely  Mary  Ann,'"  murmured  Colette. 

"No,"  said  Amarilly  positively.  "Her 
name  is  Miss  O'Leary,  and  she  didn't  clean 
the  mopboards." 

[137] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

Colette's  gay  laughter  pealed  forth. 

"Amarilly,  this  is  the  first  time,  I've 
laughed  this  summer,  but  I  must  explain 
something  to  you.  The  housekeeper  told 
me  that  all  the  children  had  scarlet  fever 
and  were  quarantined  a  long  time  after  we 
left.  I  wish  I  had  known  it  and  thought 
more  about  you,  but  -  -  I've  had  troubles  of 
my  own.  How  did  you  manage  so  long  with 
nothing  coming  in?" 

"It  was  purty  hard,  but  we  fetched  it," 
sighed  Amarilly,  thinking  of  the  struggles. 
"We're  doin'  fine  now  again." 

"But,  tell  me;  how  did  you  buy  food  and 
things  when  none  of  you  were  working?" 

"When  your  ten  dollars  was  gone,  we 
spent  his'n." 

"Whose?" 

"Mr.  Meredith's.  He  sent  us  a  ten, 
too." 

"Oh!"  replied  Colette  frigidly. 

"Then  the  Boarder  give  us  all  he  hed. 
Arterwards  come  dark  days  until  Mr.  Vedder 
sent  us  a  fiver.  Then  thar  was  an  orful  day 
when  thar  wa'n't  a  cent  and  we  didn't  know 
whar  to  turn,  and  then  -  It  saved  us." 

"It?  What?" 

[138] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

"The  surplus.  Mr.  St.  John's  surplus.  It 
brung  in  lots." 

"Why,  what  do  you  mean,  Amarilly?" 

"You  see  'twas  at  our  house  when  Iry  was 
fust  took  sick  —  same  as  the  waist  you 
gimme  was.  They  couldn't  nuther  on  'em 
be  sent  hum  till  they  was  fumygated.  Then 
Mrs.  Winders  said  as  how  he,  Mr.  St.  John, 
said  as  how  we  was  to  keep  it  and  cut  it  up 
fer  the  chillern,  but  we  didn't." 

"Oh,  Amarilly,"  asked  Colette  faintly, 
"do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  the  surplice 
was  never  delivered  to  Mr.  Meredith?" 

"No.  Gus  didn't  take  it  that  night,  and 
in  the  mornin'  when  Iry  was  took  it  was  too 
late.  And  then  when  it  got  fumygated, 
Mr.  St.  John  had  gone  away  and  he  left  word 
we  was  to  keep  it." 

The  transformation  in  Colette's  mobile 
face  during  this  explanation  was  rapid  and 
wonderful.  With  a  radiant  smile  she  stopped 
the  brougham  and  put  her  arms  impulsively 
about  Amarilly.  J 

"Oh,  Amarilly,  I'm  so  happy,  and  I've 
had  such  a  wretched  summer!  Now,  we  will 
go  right  to  your  house  and  you'll  let  me  see 
the  surplice." 

[139] 


Amarilly  looked  surprised. 

"Why,  yes,  you  can  see  it,  of  course, 
though  it  ain't  no  diffrent  from  his  other 
ones." 

"Oh  yes  it  is!  Far,  far  different,  Amarilly. 
It  has  a  history." 

:<Yes,  I  guess  it  has,"  laughed  Amarilly. 
"It's  been  goin'  some  these  last  two  months!" 

"Why,  what  do  you  mean,  Amarilly?  and 
I  forgot  in  my  excitement  to  ask  how  it 
helped  you.  But  first  tell  me.  You  know 
there  is  a  pocket  in  it?" 

"Yes,  Miss  King." 

"Have  you  noticed  anything  in  the  pocket?  " 

"Never  looked  onct.  But  then  if  thar 
was  'twould  hev  come  out  in  the  wash.  It's 
been  did  up  heaps  of  times.  You  see,  rentin' 
it  out  so  much  - 

"Renting  it  out!" 

Amarilly  gave  a  graphic  account  of  the 
adventures  of  the  errant  garment  to  date. 
Meanwhile  Colette's  countenance  underwent 
kaleidoscopic  changes. 

"Amarilly,"  she  asked  faintly,  "have  you 
the  addresses  of  all  those  people  to  whom 
you  rented  it?" 

"Yes;  I  keep  books  now,  and  I  put  it 
[140] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

down  in  my  day  ledger  the  way  the  Boarder 
showed  me." 

"There  was  something  —  of  mine  —  in  — 
that  pocket.  Will  you  ask  your  mother  to 
look  for  it,  and  hunt  the  house  over  for  it?" 

Amarilly,  greatly  distressed  at  the  loss, 
promised  faithfully  to  do  so. 


[141] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 


CHAPTER  XV 

AS  soon  as  Amarilly  had  been  deposited 
at  her  door,  Colette  tore  a  leaf  from  the 
tablet  reposing  in  its  silver  case,  hastily  wrote 
a  few  lines,  and  then  ran  her  brougham  at 
full  speed  back  to  St.  Mark's.  A  chorister 
was  just  coming  out. 

"Walter!"  she  called. 

The  lad  came  down  to  the  curb. 

"Will  you  please  take  this  to  Mr.  Mere- 
dith? He  is  probably  in  the  Sunday-school 
now." 

"Sure.  Will  you  wait  for  an  answer, 
Miss  King?" 

"No,  thank  you,  Walter." 

She  rode  home  and  waited  anxiously  for 
the  personal  answer  to  her  note,  which  came 
with  most  unclerical  alacrity. 

"Colette,"  he  said,  his  voice  tense,  "if 
you  knew  what  your  little  note  meant! 
Did- 

"Wait  until  I  explain,  John.     I  must  tell 
you  about  the  surplice." 
[142] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

She  repeated  Amarilly's  account  of  the 
peregrinations  of  the  robe. 

"Well?"  he  asked  bewildered,  "I  don't 
see  what  that  has  to  do  with  - 

"Everything.  There  was  something  of 
mine  -  '  she  turned  a  deep  crimson  —  "  in 
the  pocket  of  that  surplice." 

"Yours!  Why,  how  did  it  get  there, 
Colette?  Was  it  - 

"I  am  not  going  to  tell  you  —  not  until  I 
have  it  back.  Oh,  I  could  die  of  shame  when 
I  think  who  may  have  found  it.  You  must 
get  it." 

"Colette,"  he  answered  gravely,  "the  sur- 
plice must  have  passed  through  many  hands, 
but  if  it  is  possible  to  trace  this  —  article,  I 
will  do  so.  Still,  how  can  I  make  inquiries 
unless  I  know  what  it  is?" 

"You  can  ask  them,  each  and  all,  if  they 
found  anything  in  the  pocket,"  she  replied. 
"And  you  must  tell  them  you  left  it  there." 

"And  you  won't  trust  me,  Colette?  Not 
after  my  long  unhappy  summer.  And  won't 
you  give  me  an  answer  now  to  the  note  I 
wrote  you  last  spring?" 

"No;  I  won't  tell  you  anything!  Not  until 
you  find  that." 

[143] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

"Be  reasonable,  Colette." 

His  choice  of  an  adjective  was  most  un- 
fortunate for  his  cause.  It  was  the  word  of 
words  that  Colette  detested;  doubtless  be- 
cause she  had  been  so  often  entreated  to 
cultivate  that  quality. 

"I  will  not,"  she  answered,  "if  to  tell  you 
is  being  reasonable.  I  must  have  it  back.  I 
think  no  one  will  really  know  to  whom  it  be- 
longs, though  they  may  guess.  You  must 
assume  the  ownership." 

"I  certainly  shall,  if  it  can  be  found,"  he 
assured  her. 

Seeing  the  utter  futility  of  changing  her 
mood,  he  took  his  departure;  perhaps  a  little 
wiser  if  not  quite  so  sad  as  he  had  been  before 
he  saw  her.  The  next  morning  he  called 
upon  Amarilly,  whom  he  found  alone  with 
Iry. 

"I  am  very  sorry  to  learn  that  you  had 
such  a  hard  summer,"  he  said  kindly,  "and 
I  regret  that  I  didn't  know  more  about  your 
affairs  before  I  left  the  city,  but  I  was  too 
absorbed,  I  fear,  in  my  own  troubles." 

"How  did  you  hear  about  us?"  she  asked 
curiously. 

"From  Miss  King." 

[144] 


"Oh,"  said  Amarilly  happily,  imagining 
that  their  trouble  must  have  been  patched 
up.  Then  another  thought  occurred  to  her 
which  gave  her  a  little  heart  palpitation. 
With  intense  anxiety  depicted  on  her  linea- 
ments she  asked  tremulously:  "Did  she  tell 
you  about  the  surplus?" 

"Amarilly,"  and  the  tone  was  so  reassur- 
ing that  the  little  wrinkles  of  anxiety  van- 
ished, "when  I  gave  you  the  surplice,  I  gave 
it  to  you  unconditionally,  and  I  am  very 
glad  that  you  put  it  to  profit.  But,  you 
know,  as  Miss  King  told  you,  that  there 
was  something  of  value — of  importance — in 
that  pocket;  something  that  must  be  found. 
My  happiness  depends  entirely  upon  its 
recovery.  Now,  she  tells  me  that  you  can 
give  me  the  names  and  addresses  of  all  the 
people  through  whose  hands  it  passed." 

"Sure  thing!"  she  replied  with  business- 
like alacrity.  "You  see  the  Boarder  has  been 
larnin'  me  bookkeepin',  and  so  I  keep  all 
our  accounts  now  in  a  big  book  the  grocer 
give  me." 

She  produced  a  large,  ledger-like  book  and 
laid  it  on  the  table  for  his  inspection.  He 
examined  her  system  of  bookkeeping  with 
[145] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

interest.  Under  the  head  of  "Cr.,"  which 
she  explained  to  him  meant  "bruhg  in," 
was  "Washins,"  "Boarder,"  "Flamingus," 
"Milt,"  "Bobby,"  "Bud."  Below  each  of 
these  subheads  were  dates  and  accounts. 
The  page  opposite,  headed  "Dr.,"  she  trans- 
lated, "means  paid  out." 

She  turned  a  few  leaves,  and  in  big  letters 
he  read  the  word  "Surplus." 

"This  bein'  a  sort  of  extry  account,  the 
Boarder  said  to  run  it  as  a  special  and  keep 
it  seprut.  If  you'll  set  down,  I'll  read  offen 
to  you  whar  it  has  went." 

She  began  to  read  laboriously  and  slowly 
from  the  book,  adding  explanatory  notes  in 
glib  tones. 

"July  8.  Mister  Carrul,  tenner,  1  doller. 
Fade.'  He's  the  tenor,  you  know,  to  Grace 
Church.  He  wanted  it  to  sing  in  at  a  sacred 
concert.  His  was  too  short  or  too  long. 

"'July  11.  Miss  Lyte  and  Miss  Bobson. 
Tables.  1  doller.  Fade.'  Mr.  Carul  knows 
where  they  live.  'Twaz  him  as  got  the  job 
fer  me. 

" '  July  15  to  July  19.  The  Beehive.  3  dol- 
lers  and  J  Fade.'  That's  a  bargain  store 
down  in  our  parts.  I  went  in  fer  to  git  Bud 
[  146] 


AMARILLY  OF,  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

a  cap  and  I  hearn  the  clerk  askin'  the  boss 
about  fixin'  up  a  winder  show  with  wax 
figgers  fer  a  weddin'.  I  step  up  to  him  and 
ask  him  if  he  kep  surpluses,  and  he  sez  as  he 
didn't.  I  told  him  I  could  rent  him  one  to 
put  on  the  minister,  and  he  hedn't  thought 
fer  to  hev  it  an  Episcopal  show,  but  he  sed 
he'd  do  it  fer  an  ad  fer  his  white  goods.  He 
wouldn't  stand  fer  no  dollar  a  day.  He  beat 
me  down  to  three-fifty,  but  he  throwed  in  a 
cap  fer  Bud. 

"Next  come  Mrs.  Hudgers.  I  didn't  put 
it  down  in  the  ledger,  though,  cause  it  didn't 
bring  nuthin'  but  a  pan  of  doughnuts.  Her 
son  Hallie  died,  and  he  didn't  hev  no  nice 
clo'es  ter  be  laid  out  in,  and  she  was  agoin' 
to  hev  quite  a  funyral,  so  jest  afore  folks  come, 
she  slipped  the  surplus  on  ter  him  over  his 
old  clo'es,  and  then  when  'twas  over,  she 
took  it  off  en  him  again.  He  made  a  swell 
lookin'  corpse.  Bein'  a  neighbor  we  didn't 
go  fer  to  ask  her  nuthin',  but  she  give  us  the 
nut  cakes.  They  give  her  dyspepsy,  any- 
how." 

The  muscles  of  John  Meredith's  face  grew 
rigid  in  his  endeavor  to  maintain  a  serious 
expression.  He  had  taken  out  a  notebook 
[147] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

at  the  beginning  of  the  interview  to  jot  down 
the  addresses,  but  he  copied  Amarilly's  com- 
ments as  well,  for  the  future  entertainment 
of  Colette. 

"'July  25  and  26.  Mr.  Deny  Phillips, 
The  Navarre.  2  dollers.  Fade.'  He  paints 
picters.  He  painted  the  surplus  onto  a  man 
playin'  on  a  orgin." 

She  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  con- 
tinued: "I'm  agoin'  to  work  reg'lur  fer  him 
instead  of  to  the  theayter.  I'm  agoin'  to  git 
his  breakfast  and  clean  his  rooms.  He'll  pay 
me  the  same  as  I  got.  He's  a  sort  of  eddica- 
tin'  me  too." 

"Why,  how  is  that,  Amarilly?"  asked 
John  in  perplexity. 

"He  larnt  me  not  to  say  'et'  and  'kin." 

The  rector's  eyes  twinkled. 

"And,"  pursued  Amarilly,  after  another 
moment  of  hesitancy,  "he's  larnt  me  how  to 
fix  my  hair.  He  says  red  hair  is  beautiful! 
He  took  me  to  a  restyrant." 

John  looked  troubled  at  this  statement, 
and  felt  that  his  call  at  the  studio  would  now 
be  for  a  double  purpose. 

"'July    27,'"    resumed    Amarilly.     '"The 
Boarder.     25  cents.     Fade." 
[148] 


"Why,  what  possible  use  could  he  have  for 
a  surplice?" 

"He's  akeepin'  company  with  a  young 
gal  -  -  Lily  Rose  —  and  she  wanted  his  like- 
ness tooken  sorter  fancy-like,  so  he  wuz  took 
in  the  surplus,  and  he  got  himself  framed  in  a 
gilt  and  shell  frame,  and  she  hez  it  ahangin' 
over  her  bed.  I  didn't  want  no  pay  from 
him,  cause  he  give  us  his  money  when  yours 
and  Miss  King's  was  gone,  but  he  says  as 
how  it  might  bring  him  luck  in  gittin'  her, 
so  I  took  a  quarter  of  a  dollar. 

"'July  29.  Mister  Vergil  Washington. 
Reckter  Colered  Church.  1  doller.  Fade.' 
Some  one  stole  his'n  offen  the  clo'es-line,  and 
he  only  hed  one. 

"'July  31.  Widder  Hubbleston,  56  Wil- 
kins  St.  1  Doller.  Fade/  She  got  merried 
by  an  Episcopal  minister,  and  he  furgot  his 
surplus,  and  that  was  all  she  hed  hired  him 
fer,  so  she  rented  our'n  fer  him,  and  Mr. 
Jimmels,  her  new  husband,  took  it  outen 
the  minister's  pay.  Somethin'  allers  goes 
wrong  to  her  weddin's." 

"Does  she  have  them  often?"  interrupted 
John  gravely. 

"Quite  frequent." 

[149] 


"'Aug.  3.  Mister  Vedder,  Ticket  Seller 
to  the  Theayter.  1  doller.  Fade.'  He  wore 
it  to  a  sheet  and  piller  case  party.  I  didn't 
want  fer  to  take  nuthin'  from  him,  cause  he 
give  us  money  when  we  hed  the  fever,  but 
he  wouldn't  hev  it  that  way. 

"'Aug.  5.  Pete  Noyes.  Gum.'  He's  the 
boy  what  sells  gum  to  the  theayter.  He 
was  agoin'  to  a  party  whar  you  hev  to  be  the 
name  of  a  book.  He  wore  the  surplus  so  his 
name  was  the  Little  Minister.  We  took  it 
out  in  gum  —  spruce  and  pepsin.  Iry  swal- 
lered  his'n  every  time,  and  Miss  Hudgers  was 
afeard  he'd  be  stuck  together  inside. 

'"Aug.  9-23.  Vawdevil  Theayter.  5 
dollers.  Fade.'  They  put  it  on  fer  a 
sketch. 

"'Aug,  25.  Mister  Cotter.  25  cents. 
Fade.'  He's  a  brakeman  friend  of  the 
Boarder.  He  wore  it  to  a  maskyrade. 

'"Aug.  27.     Poleece.     35  cents.     Fade.' " 

"Police!"  ejaculated  John  faintly. 

"Some  one  swiped  it  offen  our  clo'es-line, 
and  when  the  police  ketched  the  thief,  we 
was  subpenyed,  or  ma  was.  She  got  thirty- 
five  cents,  and  all  on  us  'cept  Iry  went  to 
hear  her." 

[150] 


"'Aug.  29.  Bishop  Thurber.  5  dollers. 
Fade/" 

"Bishop  Thurber!"  the  name  was  re- 
peated with  the  force  of  an  expletive. 

"Seems  to  mind  that  more'n  he  did  the 
police,"  thought  Amarilly. 

"It's  quite  a  story,"  she  explained,  "and 
though  it  was  orful  at  the  beginnin'  it  come 
out  all  right,  jest  as  the  plays  all  do.  I  jest 
thought,  I  shouldn't  hev  put  that  down  in  the 
account,  cause  we  give  back  the  five,  so  we 
didn't  make  nuthin'  in  a  way.  We  wuz 
dead  broke.  I  suppose,"  she  ruminated, 
"you  don't  know  jest  how  orful  it  is  to  be 
that." 

"I  don't,  Amarilly,  from  my  own  experi- 
ence," replied  John  sympathetically,  "but  I 
can  imagine  how  terrible  it  must  be,  and  I 
am  very  sorry  — " 

"Well,  as  long  as  it  come  out  all  right,  it 
don't  make  no  difference.  We'd  got  to  pay 
our  rent  or  else  git  put  out,  and  I  was  up  a 
stump  till  the  Boarder  said  to  tackle  a  pawn- 
shop. I  didn't  hev  nuthin'  but  the  surplus 
to  pawn,  and  I  hated  to  pawn  it  on  your 
account." 

"I  don't  care,  my  child,"  was  the  fervent 
[151] 


AMARELLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

assurance,  "where  you  took  it  as  long  as  it 
helped  you  in  your  troubles." 

"Well,  I  was  in  a  pawnshop,  and  the  man 
was  holdin'  it  up,  and  the  bishop  went  by, 
and  when  he  seen  what  it  was  he  come  in, 
and  asked  me  all  about  it,  and  I  told  him. 
He  took  it  worse  than  you  do  that  I  would 
pawn  it,  and  to  save  it  he  lent  me  five  dollers. 
Course  I  made  him  take  the  surplus  till  I  hed 
the  money  to  git  it  outen  hock,  and  when  we 
was  able  to  pay  fer  it,  Bud  went  arter  it. 
Thar  was  a  boy  practicin'  at  the  church  next 
door,  and  he  warn't  singin'  it  right,  and  Bud 
he  couldn't  keep  still  noway,  so  he  up  and 
sings  the  soler,  and  when  the  man  at  the 
orgin  hearn  him,  he  fired  the  boy  what  was 
tryin'  to  sing,  and  hired  Bud  in  his  place. 
He's  agoin'  to  sing  to  a  recital  at  Grace 
Church  day  arter  to-morrer,  and  git  ten 
dollers.  And  we  air  goin'  to  make  Bud 
bank  all  he  gits  cause  he  ain't  so  strong  as 
the  rest  of  us.  He  may  need  it  some  time. 
That's  all  the  places  the  surplus  went  to. 
I  guess  I'll  go  outen  the  costumin'  business 
now,  'cause  I'll  be  startin*  in  with  Mr.  Derry 
soon." 

[152] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THERE  was  one  little  ominous  cloud  in 
the  serene  sky  of  Mrs.  Jenkins's  hap- 
piness.    She    had    nothing   suitable   for  the 
occasion  of  the  organ  recital  in  the  way  of 
wearing  apparel. 

"I  feel  as  if  gloves  was  due  you,  Bud,"  she 
lamented,  "but  I  kin't  afford  'em.  I  guess 
I  kin  put  my  hands  under  my  mantilly, 
though,  and  folks  won't  know." 

"She'd  orter  hev  'em,  and  she'd  orter  hev 
a  new  hat,  too,"  reflected  Bud,  and  his  song 
became  a  requiem.  He  manfully  resolved 
to  sacrifice  his  future  to  present  needs  and 
curtail  the  laundry  fund.  After  some  medi- 
tation he  called  upon  the  bishop,  and  asked 
if  he  might  have  an  advance  of  half  the 
amount  he  would  receive  for  his  solo. 

The  bishop  readily  assented,  but  sought 
the  reason  for  the  request. 

"My  mother  is  comin'  to  the  recital,  but 
she  ain't  got  no  fixings.  I'm  goin'  to  buy  her 
a  hat." 

[153] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

"I  am  glad  you  think  of  your  mother,  my 
lad,  but  it  would  be  well  to  let  some  older 
person  select  it  for  you.  My  housekeeper  - 

Bud's  refusal  was  emphatic.  He  knew 
the  kind  of  hat  his  mother  wanted,  and  he 
had  noted  her  quickly  suppressed  look  of 
disappointment  at  the  sombre  hat  donated 
by  Mrs.  Hudgers  on  the  day  of  the  police- 
court  attendance. 

Upon  receiving  the  five  dollars  he  went 
directly  to  the  Fashion  Emporium,  where  the 
windows  were  filled  with  a  heterogeneous 
assortment  of  gayly  trimmed  hats,  marked 
enticingly  with  former  and  present  prices. 

"I  want  a  hat  kivered  with  flowers,"  he 
announced. 

"Who  for?"  asked  the  young  saleswoman. 

"For  my  mother." 

"How  would  you  like  a  nice  flower  toque 
like  this?"  displaying  a  headgear  of  modest 
forget-me-nots. 

'That's  all  faded.  Ain't  you  got  any  red 
flowers?  If  you  haven't,  I  know  a  store 
where  they  keep  'em." 

The  girl  instantly  sacrificed  her  ideas  of 
what  was  fitting  to  the  certainty  of  a  sale, 
and  quickly  produced  a  hat  of  green  foliage 

[154] 


AMARELLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

from  which  rose  long-stemmed,  nodding  red 
poppies,  "a  creation  marked  down  to  three- 
ninety-eight,"  she  informed  him. 

"That's  the  kind!  I'll  take  it  and  a  pair 
of  white  gloves,  too,  if  you've  got  some  big 
ones  fer  a  dollar." 

Bud  hastened  home  with  his  purchases. 
His  mother  was  quite  overcome  by  the  sight 
of  such  finery. 

"I  never  thought  to  be  dressed  up  again," 
she  exclaimed  on  the  eventful  night.  "No 
one  has  bought  me  nuthin'  to  wear  sence  your 
pa  died.  I  feel  like  I  was  some  one  outen  a 
book." 

The  entire  family,  save  Iry,  who  was  put 
to  bed  at  a  neighbor's,  went  to  the  recital. 
The  Boarder  took  Lily  Rose,  who  was  quite 
flustered  at  her  first  appearance  with  the 
family. 

John  and  Colette  occupied  a  pew  directly 
opposite  the  family.  Mr.  Vedder  and  Pete 
were  also  in  attendance. 

When  the  bishop  came  from  the  vestry 
and  walked  down  the  aisle  to  his  pew,  his 
eyes  fell  upon  the  worn,  seamed  face  of  Bud's 
mother,  the  weary  patient  eyes  in  such  odd 
contrast  to  the  youthful  turban  with  its 

[155] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

smartly  dancing  flowers.  Something  stirred 
in  his  well-regulated  heart,  and  he  carefully 
wiped  his  glasses. 

At  the  signal  from  the  choirmaster  for  the 
solo  of  the  oratorio,  Bud  arose.  An  atom  of 
a  boy  he  looked  in  the  vast,  vaulted  chancel, 
and  for  the  first  time  he  knew  fear  at  the 
thought  of  singing.  It  was  a  terrible  thing, 
after  all,  to  face  this  sea  of  staring,  dancing 
people.  As  lightning  reaches  to  steel,  the 
gay  poppies  nodding  so  nervously  above  his 
mother's  white,  anxious  face  sought  the  cour- 
age place  within,  and  urged  him  on.  He 
felt  himself  back  in  Clothes-line  Park,  alone 
with  his  mother  and  the  blue  sky. 

The  little  figure  filled  itself  with  a  long,  deep 
breath.  The  high,  clear  note  merged  into 
one  with  the  notes  of  the  chorus.  It  touched 
the  tones  of  the  accompaniment  in  harmony 
true,  and  swelled  into  grand,  triumphant 
music. 

"He  looks  like  he  did  arter  the  fever," 
thought  Amarilly  anxiously. 

When  he   came  down   the   aisle  with  the 

choir,  the  ethereal  look  had  left  his  face,  and 

he  was  again  a  happy  little  boy.     He  gave 

his  mother  a  gay  nod,  and  bestowed  a  wink 

[156] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

upon  the  Boarder.     He  waited  outside  and 
the  family  wended  their  way  homeward. 

There  had  not  been  time  to  bring  in  the 
clothes  before  leaving,  but  a  willing  neighbor- 
hood had  guarded  the  premises  for  them, 
so  Clothes-line  Park  was  shrouded  in  a  white- 
ness that  looked  ghostly  in  the  moonlight. 

They  made  quite  an  affair  of  the  evening 
in  honor  of  Bud's  song,  and  their  introduction 
to  Lily  Rose.  There  were  fried  sausages, 
coffee,  sandwiches,  and  pork  cake. 

'The  organist  told  me,"  announced  Bud  at 
supper,  "that  he  was  agoin'  to  train  my  voice, 
and  I  could  be  soloist  at  Grace  Church  and 
git  five  dollars  a  Sunday,  and  after  a  while  I 
could  git  ten." 

:<  You'll  be  a  millynaire,"  prophesied  Bobby 
in  awed  tones. 

"Guess  we'll  be  on  Easy  Street  now," 
shouted  Cory. 

"We  won't  be  nuthin'  of  the  kind,"  snapped 
Amarilly.  "It's  agoin'  to  all  be  banked 
fer  Bud." 

"I  guess,"  said  Bud,  in  his  quiet,  little 
old-man  way,  "I'm  the  one  to  hev  the  say. 
I'm  agoin'  to  give  ma  two  dollars  a  week 
and  bank  the  rest." 

[157] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

Meanwhile  John  was  having  an  uncomfort- 
able time  as  he  walked  home  with  Colette. 
He  had  started  on  the  trail  of  the  surplice 
the  day  before.  The  "tenner"  and  the  young 
ladies  who  had  given  the  tableaux  had  been 
interviewed,  but  in  neither  case  had  the  mys- 
terious pocket  been  discovered.  To-day  he 
had  visited  the  Beehive,  but  no  one  in  the 
store  had  paid  any  attention  to  the  pocket, 
or  knew  of  its  existence.  Colette  remained 
obdurate  to  his  pleadings.  She  assumed  that 
he  was  entirely  to  blame  for  the  loss,  and 
seemed  to  take  a  gleeful  delight  in  showing 
him  how  perverse  and  wilful  she  could  be. 
To-night  he  found  himself  less  able  than 
usual  to  cope  with  her  caprices,  so  he  began 
to  talk  of  impersonal  matters  and  dwelt  upon 
the  beauties  of  Bud's  voice,  and  the  astonish- 
ing way  in  which  it  had  developed. 

She  admitted  that  Bud's  voice  was  indeed 
wonderful,  but  maintained  that  Mrs.  Jenkins's 
poppy  hat  and  white  gloves  had  been  far 
surpassing  in  the  way  of  surprises. 

"Did  you  ever,  John,  see  anything  more 
shoutingly  funny?" 

"It  wasn't  funny,  Colette,"  he  said  wist- 
fully, and  he  proceedeed  to  relate  the  history 
[158] 


Tonight  he  found  himself  less  able  than  usual  to  cope  with 
her  caprices.    Page  158. 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

of  the  hat  as  he  had  heard  it  from  the  bishop 
that  day. 

And  though  in  the  depths  of  her  heart 
Colette  was  touched  by  the  pathos  of  the  pur- 
chase, she  must  needs  tread  again  the  fem- 
inine labyrinth  instead  of  following  the  more 
natural  and  open  path. 

"Who  was  the  young  girl  with  the 
Boarder?"  John  next  vouchsafed. 

"Why,  Lily  Rose,  of  course.  The  Lily 
for  whom  he  'sot  for  his  likeness  in  the  sur- 
plus.' That  awful  surplice,"  she  burst  forth 
in  irritation  at  the  mere  mention  of  the  un- 
fortunate word.  "  Some  of  these  people  must 
have  it.  John,  you  don't  half  try  to  find  it." 

"I  am  following  out  the  list  in  order," 
he  assured  her.  "I  shall  go  to  see  Mrs. 
Hudgers  to-morrow." 

"And  the  next  one  to  her,"  reminded 
Colette,  "is  Deny  Phillips,  Amarilly's  new 
benefactor.  She  told  me  to-day  that  she 
had  a  note  from  him,  asking  her  to  begin 
work  at  the  studio  in  a  few  days." 

"I  have  a  double  duty  in  my  call  there," 
said  John  didactically.     "If  he  is  like  some 
of  the  young  artists  I  know,  his  studio  will 
hardly  be  a  proper  place  for  Amarilly." 
[159] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

"As  it  happens,"  returned  Colette  coldly, 
"Deny  Phillips,  for  all  his  nonsense,  is  re- 
ported to  be  a  true  gentleman;  but  it  would 
make  no  difference  with  Amarilly  if  he  were 
not.  Her  inherent  goodness  would  counteract 
the  evil  of  any  atmosphere.  She  can  take 
care  of  his  rooms  until  she  is  a  little  older. 
Then  she  can  become  a  model." 

"Colette!"  he  exclaimed  protestingly. 

"  Why  not?  "  she  returned.  "  Why  shouldn't 
Amarilly  be  a  model,  or  go  on  the  stage?  Neither 
place  would  be  below  her  station  in  life." 

John  sought  refuge  in  utter  silence  which 
admonished  and  exasperated  Colette  far  more 
than  any  reproof  would  have  done. 

"You  might  as  well  go,  if  you  have  nothing 
to  say,"  she  remarked  stiffly,  as  he  lingered 
in  the  portico,  evidently  expecting  an  invi- 
tation to  enter. 

"I  have  too  much  to  say,  Colette." 

Her  sidelong  glance  noted  his  dejection, 
and  her  flagging  spirits  rose  again. 

"Too  much,  indeed,  when  you  are  so 
critical  of  what  I  say!" 

"Colette,  hear  me!" 

"No,  I  won't  listen  —  never  when  you 
preach ! " 

[160] 


"I  don't  mean  to  preach,  Colette,  but 
don't  you  think  - 

"Good  night,  John,"  she  said,  smiling. 

"Good  night!"  he  echoed  dolefully,  but 
making  no  move  to  leave.  "Colette,  will 
you  never  tell  me?" 

'Yes,"  she  replied  unexpectedly,  with  a 
dancing  light  in  her  beautiful  eyes. 

"When?" 

"When  you  restore  to  me  what  was  in  the 
pocket." 


[161] 


CHAPTER  XVII 

JASON  never  sought  the  Golden  Fleece 
with  more  unwearying  perseverance  than 
John  displayed  in  the  pursuit  of  the  lost 
article  which  Colette  refused  to  describe. 
His  calls  of  inquiry  didn't  mean  merely 
putting  the  question  politely  and  taking  his 
departure  after  receiving  an  answer.  It 
meant,  in  the  case  of  Mrs.  Hudgers,  a  mar- 
tyr's test  of  patience  in  listening  to  the  devious 
and  manifold  routes  taken  by  her  rheumatic 
pains;  a  rehearsal  of  the  late  lamented 
Hallie's  idiosyncracies;  the  details  of  his 
last  illness;  his  death,  and  his  wearing  of  the 
surplice  at  the  obsequies. 

Throughout  her  harangue  he  preached 
patience  unto  himself  and  remembered  that 
she  was  an  old  woman,  desolate  in  her  "lone 
lornness,"  so  he  counselled  not,  neither  did 
he  pray,  but  comforted  her  with  the  gentle- 
ness of  voice  and  speech  that  won  him  a 
fond  place  in  her  memory  for  all  time. 

"No,"  she  assured  him  decisively,  as  in 
[162] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

departing  he  reminded  her  of  his  original 
question,  "I  didn't  go  fer  to  look  in  no  pockit. 
I  didn't  suppose  them  things  had  pockits." 

Then  the  scene  shifted  to  Derry  Phillips 's 
studio,  and  this  visit  was  fraught  with -more 
difficulties,  for  there  was  the  case  of  Amarilly 
which  must  be  approached  delicately  and 
with  subtlety. 

After  stating  his  errand  concisely  and 
receiving  assurance  that  the  pocket  had  not 
been  examined,  but  that  the  model  should  be 
interviewed  by  him,  John  still  lingered. 

"It's  very  kind  in  you  to  give  employment 
to  Amarilly,  Mr.  Phillips." 

Derry  shook  his  head. 

"I  am  the  one  to  be  congratulated,  Mr. 
Meredith.  I  really  feel  apologetic  to  Amarilly 
for  accepting  her  services.  They  are  so 
conscientiously  and  faithfully  rendered  that 
I  feel  she  should  be  given  a  higher  scope  of 
work  than  she  can  find  here.  She  is  an 
honest,  amusing  little  soul,  and  if  by  giving 
her  employment  I  can  encourage  her  desire 
to  be  industrious  and  earn  something,  I  am 
very  glad  of  the  opportunity  to  do  so." 

This  was  a  long  and  serious  observation 
for  the  gay-hearted  Derry  to  make,  but  he 
[163] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

shrewdly  fathomed  the  pastoral  duty  under- 
lying the  seemingly  casual  remark. 

John's  keen  perception  recognized  the  sin- 
cerity in  the  ring  of  the  pleasant  young  voice, 
and  he  was  quite  won  by  the  boyish  directness. 
An  instinctive  confidence  moved  him  to  ex- 
tend the  right  hand  of  trust  and  fellow 
ship. 

'You  have  been  instructive  as  well  as 
benevolent,'*  he  remarked  smilingly.  'Two 
of  Amarilly's  errors  of  speech  have  been 
eradicated." 

The  young  artist  flushed  in  slight  con- 
fusion, and  then  with  a  half-embarrassed 
laugh,  he  replied  lightly:  "Amarilly  gave 
full  measure  of  correction  in  return." 

Responding  to  the  nameless  something  in 
John  that  so  insistently  and  irresistibly  in- 
vited confidence,  he  related  the  little  incident 
of  the  luncheon  and  her  request  in  regard 
to  temperate  orders  in  the  future. 

"And  I  don't  mean  to  say,"  he  replied  with 
winning  frankness,  "that  it  was  merely  the 
request  of  a  little  scrub-girl  that  has  kept 
me  temperate  through  two  months  of  vaca- 
tion and  temptation,  but  the  guileless  sug- 
gestion was  the  spark  that  fired  the  flame 
[  164] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

of  a  dormant  desire  to  change  —  certain 
conditions." 

John  again  extended  his  hand,  this  time  in 
a  remorseful  spirit  of  apology. 

Derry  partially  understood. 

"Amarilly  has  ardently  interested  friends," 
he  observed  whimsically.  "There  was  one 
Vedder,  a  solemn  young  German,  here  to-day 
in  my  little  maid's  interest." 

John's  call  upon  the  sable-hued  preacher, 
Brother  Washington,  also  demanded  strategic 
approach.  The  question  of  pockets  must 
be  delicately  handled  lest  any  reflection  be 
cast  upon  the  integrity  of  the  race,  and  their 
known  penchant  for  pockets. 

Brother  Washington's  sympathies  were  at 
once  enlisted,  however,  when  he  scented  a 
romance,  for  John  became  more  confidential 
in  this  than  in  any  of  his  prior  visitations,  in 
his  desire  to  propitiate.  But  his  search  was 
fruitless  here  as  elsewhere,  and  he  went  away 
convinced  that  Brother  Washington  had  not 
tampered  with  the  pocket. 

He  went  on  to  the  house  of  the  Reverend 

James   Woodville,   who   had   performed   the 

marriage  ceremony  at  the  nuptials  of  Mrs. 

Jimmels,  nee  Hubbleston.     In  this  instance 

[165] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

also  no  pocket  had  been  discovered  in  the 
garment,  so  John  wended  his  discouraged 
way  to  the  office  of  the  Barlow  Theatre. 

Mr.  Vedder  was  likewise  surprised  to  learn 
that  surplices  possessed  pockets. 

The  young  rector's  face  brightened  at  the 
next  name  on  his  list  —  Pete  Noyes.  Of 
course  a  boy  and  a  pocket  would  not  long 
remain  unacquainted.  Again  he  was  doomed 
to  disappointment.  Pete's  dismay  when  he 
learned  that  there  had  been  an  overstocked 
pocket  was  convincingly  genuine. 

:'You  see,"  he  explained,  "I  wore  it  over 
my  pants,  of  course,  and  I  had  the  pockets 
in  them,  so  I  didn't  look  for  no  more." 

Pete  escorted  the  rector  to  the  "Vawdy- 
ville,"  and  by  good  fortune  the  clerical  imper- 
sonator in  the  sketch  was  still  on  the  board, 
though  in  a  different  act.  He  instantly 
and  decidedly  disclaimed  all  knowledge  of  a 
pocket. 

"It's  like  that  game,"  grinned  Pete.  "But- 
ton, button,  who's  got  the  button?" 

:'Yes,"  agreed  John,  with  a  sigh,  "only 
in  this  case  I  fear  I  shall  continue  to  be 
'  it." 

The  brakeman,  when  he  came  in  from  his 
[166] 


run,  was  located  and  he  joined  in  the  blockade 
that  was  conspiring  against  John's  future 
happiness. 

The  clothes-line  thief  was  very  sensitive 
on  the  subject,  and  felt  greatly  aggrieved  that 
he  should  be  accused  of  picking  his  own 
pocket,  for  he  protested  that  he  had  "found" 
the  garment.  The  fancied  insinuation  in- 
deed was  so  strongly  resented  that  John 
wondered  if  it  might  not  be  a  proverbial  case 
of  "hit  birds  flutter." 

Neither  police  nor  court  of  justice  had 
examined  the  pocket;  nor  had  they  been 
aware  of  the  existence  of  one.  The  bishop 
could  throw  no  light  on  the  missing  article, 
and  this  call  ended  the  successless  tour  of 
investigation. 

"It  was  truly  a  profitable  investment  for 
the  Jenkins  family,"  thought  John,  "but  a 
sorry  one  for  me." 

Having  now  wended  his  weary  and  una- 
vailing way  into  all  the  places  listed,  John 
made  his  final  report  to  Colette  who  remained 
adamant  in  her  resolve. 

"Of  course  some  of  those  people  did  find 
it,"  she  maintained.  "It  stands  to  reason 
they  must  have  done  so,  and  it  is  up  to  you 
[167] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

now  to  find  out  which  one  of  them  is  the 
guilty  person." 

"How  can  I  find  that  out,  Colette?" 

"How?  Anyhow!"  she  replied,  her  mien 
betraying  great  triumph  at  her  powers  of 
logic. 

"It  must  be  found!"  she  asserted  with  a 
distinct  air  of  finality.  "And  until  it  is 
found  - 

She  stopped  abruptly. 

"Was  it  of  value?  No,  I  am  not  trying 
to  find  out  what  it  was  since  you  don't  wish 
me  to  know,  but  if  I  knew  its  value,  it  might 
help  me  to  decide  who  would  be  the  most 
likely  to  have  a  motive  for  taking  it.  But 
my  belief  is  that  the  article  slipped  from  the 
pocket  and  is  lost." 

"It  must  be  found  then,"  she  persisted 
obstinately. 

John  went  home  to  ponder  over  his  hopeless 
task.  It  remained  for  Amarilly  with  her 
optimistic  spirit  to  cheer  him. 

"It'll  turn  up  some  place  whar  you  never 
looked  fer  it  and  when  you  ain't  thinkin' 
nuthin'  about  it,"  she  asserted  believingly. 
"Lost  things  allers  do." 

Despite  her  philosophy  she  was  greatly 
[168] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

distressed  over  the  disappearance  of  the 
mysterious  article  whose  loss  was  keeping 
John  so  unhappy.  She  ransacked  the  house 
from  the,  cellar  to  the  Boarder's  room,  but 
found  no  trace  of  it. 

"I  wonder  what  it  was,"  she  mused. 
"Mebby  Miss  King  dreamt  she  put  something 
in  there,  and  when  could  she  have  done  it 
anyhow?  Mebby  she  give  him  a  present, 
and  he  slipped  it  in  there  and  fergot  to  take 
it  out  when  he  sent  it  to  us.  But  then  it 
would  have  come  out  in  the  wash.  She  don't 
seem  to  feel  so  bad  as  he  does  —  jest  sorter 
stubborn  about  it." 

The  members  of  the  household  were  put 
through  the  third  degree,  but  each  declared 
his  innocence  in  the  matter. 

"Twas  most  likely  Iry  took  it,"  said 
Cory,  who  found  the  baby  a  convenient  loop- 
hole for  any  accusations,  "and  most  likely 
he  hez  swallered  it." 

Gus  persisted  in  his  oft-repeated  statement, 
that  there  was  nothing  in  the  pocket  when  it 
was  hung  up  during  quarantine.  This  as- 
surance was  conveyed  to  Colette  by  John, 
who  hoped  she  might  find  solace  in  the 
thought  that  none  of  the  renters  could  have 
[169J 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

had  it,  if  this  were  true,  but  to  his  chagrin 
she  found  in  his  information  an  implied 
reflection  on  her  veracity. 

"Colette,"  he  said  whimsically,  "only  three 
persons  connected  with  this  affair  have  taken 
my  remarks  as  personal,  you,  Brother  Wash- 
ington, and  the  thief." 

With  this  remark  John,  despairing  of  his 
ability  to  fathom  the  mystery  of  the  article 
or  to  follow  the  caprices  of  Colette,  dropped 
the  matter  completely. 


[170] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 


AT  half  past  eight  on  the  morning  indi- 
cated, Amarilly 's  ring  at  the  door  of  the 
studio  was  answered  by  Deny,  whose  face 
was  covered  with  lather. 

"  Hello,  Amarilly!"  he  exclaimed  heartily, 
extending  his  hand  in  genial  comradeship. 
"I  am  glad  to  see  you  again.  Been  pretty 
well  through  the  summer?  Well,  come  on 
into  the  butler's  pantry,  and  see  what  you  can 
do  in  a  coffee  way  while  I  finish  shaving." 

Amarilly  had  been  receiving  instruction 
in  domestic  science,  including  table  service, 
at  the  Guild  school.  Colette,  interested  in 
the  studio  work,  had  provided  some  minute 
muslin  aprons  and  a  little  patch  of  linen  for 
the  head  covering  of  the  young  waitress, 
advising  her  that  she  onust  wear  them  while 
serving  breakfast.  So  when  Deny  emerged 
from  his  dressing-room,  a  trimly  equipped 
little  maid  stood  proudly  and  anxiously 
awaiting  him. 

"Why,  bless  your  heart,  Amarilly!  I  feel 
really  domesticated.  You  look  as  natty  as 
[171] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

a  new  penny,  and  the  little  white  cap  is  great 
on  your  hair.  I  see  you  have  remembered 
how  to  fix  it." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Deny,  but  please  sit 
down  while  your  coffee  is  hot." 

"Deed  I  will,  and  if  it  tastes  as  good  as 
it  smells,  I  shall  raise  your  remuneration." 

He  pronounced  the  coffee  delicious,  the 
grapefruit  fixed  to  his  liking,  the  toast  crisp, 
and  the  eggs  boiled  just  to  the  right  con- 
sistency. 

"And  have  you  had  breakfast,  Amarilly?" 

"Yes,  Mr.  Deny,  at  half  past  five." 

"Jimmy!  you  should  be  ready  for  another. 
Now  talk  to  me  while  I  eat.  Tell  me  about 
your  reverend  friend  who  was  so  daffy  on  the 
subject  of  pockets.  Has  he  located  any  yet?" 

Amarilly  looked   troubled. 

"Miss  King  said  I  wa'n't  to  talk  to  you 
while  I  was  serving." 

"Tell  Miss  King  with  Mr.  Phillips'  com- 
pliments that  artists  are  not  conventional, 
and  that  you  and  I  are  not  in  the  relation  to 
each  other  of  master  and  maid.  We  are  good 
friends,  and  quite  en  famille.  You  are  such 
a  fine  cook,  I  think  I  shall  have  you  serve  me 
luncheon  at  one  o'clock.  Can  you?" 
[172] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

"Oh,  yes;   I  should  love  to,  Mr.  Derry." 

"I'll  stock  the  larder,  then.  No;  I  can't 
be  bothered,  and  I'd  feel  too  much  like  a 
family  man  if  I  went  about  marketing.  I'll 
give  you  carte  blanche  to  order  what  you  will." 

"What's  that,  Mr.  Derry?" 

"Good!  We  mustn't  neglect  your  educa- 
tion. I  am  glad  you  asked  me.  You  might 
have  always  supposed  it  a  breakfast- 
food." 

He  proceeded  to  explain  elaborately  what 
the  words  meant,  and  then  asked  her  if  she 
had  remembered  her  previous  lesson. 

"Yes;    ain't  you  —  goin'  - 

"Stop  right  there.  Your  next  word  to  be 
eliminated  is  *  ain't/  You  must  say  *  aren't' 
or  *  isn't.'  And  you  must  remember  to  put 
*g'  on  the  end  of  every  word  ending  in  'ing.' 
Don't  let  me  hear  you  say  'goin',  again.  I'll 
teach  you  one  new  word  every  day  now. 
You  see  the  measure  of  a  maid  is  her  pure 
English." 

Amarilly  looked  distressed. 

''What's  the  matter,  Amarilly?  Don't  you 
want  to  learn  to  speak  properly?" 

"Yes,  I  do,  Mr.  Derry;  but  Miss  King  — 
she  don't  want  me  to  speak  diff  rent.  She 
[1731 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

likes  to  hear  me  talk  ignorant,  and  she  said 
she  was  afeard  you'd  make  me  brom— 

"Brom?"  he  repeated. 

"There  was  some  more  to  it,  but  I  fergit." 

"Bromidic,"  he  said  triumphantly,  after  an 
instant's  pondering.  'You  can  never  under 
any  circumstances  be  that,  and  I  shall  develop 
your  imagination  and  artistic  temperament 
at  the  same  time.  Miss  King  is  selfish  to 
wish  to  keep  you  from  cultivating  yourself 
for  the  purpose  of  furnishing  her  entertain- 
ment. By  the  way,  I  am  to  meet  her  to- 
night at  a  dinner,  and  I  think  we  shall  have  a 
mutual  subject  for  conversation.  I  must  get 
to  work,  now.  Clear  away  the  dishes.  And 
finish  the  rest  of  this  toast  and  coffee.  It 
would  be  wicked  to  waste  it." 

Amarilly  substituted  a  work  apron  for  the 
little  white  covering,  and  was  soon  engaged 
in  ''redding/' 

At  eleven  o'clock  the  place  was  in  perfect 
order,  and  she  went  into  the  studio  where 
Deny  was  at  work. 

"Shall  I  go  get  the  things  fer  lunch?" 

"Luncheon,  if  you  please,  Amarilly.  I 
like  that  word  better.  It  seems  to  mean 
daintier  things.  Here's  a  five-dollar  bill. 

[174] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

Get  what  you  consider  proper  for  a  simple 
little  home  luncheon,  you  know.  Nothing 
elaborate." 

Amarilly,  feeling  but  not  betraying  her 
utter  inability  to  construct  the  menu  for  a 
"simple  little  home  luncheon,"  walked  de- 
spondently down  the  street. 

'The  Boarder,"  she  reflected,  "takes  bread 
and  meat  and  hard  biled  eggs  when  they 
ain't  —  aren't  too  high,  and  pie  when  we 
hev  it." 

Some  vague  instinct  of  the  fitness  of  things 
warned  her  that  this  would  not  be  a  suitable 
repast  for  Derry.  Then  a  light  shone  through 
her  darkness. 

"I'll  telephone  Miss  Vail,"  she  decided. 

So  she  called  up  her  teacher  at  the  Guild, 
and  explained  the  situation.  She  received 
full  instructions,  made  her  purchases,  and 
went  back  to  the  studio. 

At  one  o'clock  she  again  garbed  herself  in 
cap  and  apron  and  called  Derry  to  a  luncheon 
which  consisted  of  bouillon,  chops,  French 
peas,  rolls,  a  salad,  and  black  tea  served  with 
lemon. 

"Amarilly,"  he  announced  solemnly,  "you 
are  surely  the  reincarnation  of  a  chef.  You 

[175] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

are  immediately  promoted  from  housemaid 
to  housekeeper  with  full  charge  over  my 
cuisine,  and  your  wages  doubled." 

"And  that's  going  some  for  one  day!" 
Amarilly  gleefully  announced  to  the  family 
circle  that  night. 

Her  teacher,  greatly  interested  and  grati- 
fied at  her  pupil's  ability  to  put  her  instruction 
to  practical  use  and  profit,  made  out  on  each 
Monday  a  menu  for  the  entire  week.  She 
also  gave  her  special  coaching  in  setting  table 
and  serving,  so  Derry's  domestic  life  became 
a  thing  of  pride  to  himself  and  his  coterie 
of  artists.  He  gave  little  luncheons  and  studio 
teas  in  his  apartments,  Amarilly  achieving  great 
success  in  her  double  role  of  cook  and  waitress. 

Her  work  was  not  only  profitable  finan- 
cially, but  it  developed  new  tastes  and  tend- 
encies. Every  day  there  was  the  new  word 
eagerly  grasped  and  faithfully  remembered. 
"Fer,"  "set,"  "spile,"  "orter,"  and  the  like 
were  gradually  entirely  eliminated  from  her 
vocabulary.  Unconsciously  she  acquired  "at- 
mosphere" from  her  environment.  In  her 
spare  moments  Amarilly  read  aloud  to  Deny, 
while  he  painted,  he  choosing  the  book  at 
random  from  his  library. 
[176] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

"I  want  to  use  you  for  a  model  this  after- 
noon," he  remarked  one  day  as  she  was  about 
to  depart.  "Braid  your  hair  just  as  tight  as 
you  can,  the  way  you  had  it  the  first  day 
you  came.  Put  on  your  high-necked,  long- 
sleeved  apron,  and  get  it  wet  and  soapy  as 
it  was  that  first  day,  and  then  come  back 
to  the  studio  with  your  scrubbing  brush 
and  pail." 

Amarilly  did  as  she  was  bidden  with  a 
reluctance  which  the  artist,  absorbed  in  his 
preparations  for  work,  did  not  notice. 

'Yes;  that's  fine,"  he  said,  glancing  up 
as  she  came  to  him.  "Now  get  down  here 
on  your  knees  by  the  —  what  kind  of  boards 
did  you  call  them,  Amarilly?  Mopboards? 
Yes,  that  was  it.  Now  try  and  put  your 
whole  mind  on  the  memory  of  the  horror  you 
felt  at  the  accumulation  of  dirt  on  that  first 
day,  and  begin  to  scrub.  Turn  your  head 
slightly  toward  me,  tilted  just  a  little  —  so  — 
There,  that's  fine!  Keep  that  position  just 
as  long  and  just  as  well  as  you  possibly  can." 

Deny  began  to  paint,  mechanically  at 
first,  and  then  as  he  warmed  to  his  subject 
and  became  interested  in  his  conception,  with 
rapidity  and  absorption. 

[177] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

"There!"  he  finally  exclaimed,  "you  can 
rest  now!  This  may  be  my  chef-d'oeuvre, 
after  all,  Amarilly.  Won't  you  be  proud  to 
be  well  hung  in  the  Academy  and  have  a 
group  constantly  before  your  picture.  Why, 
what's  the  matter,  child,"  springing  to  her 
side,  "tears?  I  forgot  it  was  your  first  ex- 
perience in  posing.  Why  didn't  you  tell  me 
you  were  tired?" 

"I  wan't  tired,"  she  half  sobbed. 

"Well,  what  is  it?    Tell  me." 

"I'm  afeerd  you'll  laugh  at  me." 

"Not  on  your  life!  And  your  word  for 
to-day,  Amarilly,  is  afraid.  Remember. 
Never  afeerd." 

"I'll  remember,"  promised  Amarilly 
meekly,  as  she  wiped  her  dewy  eyes. 

"Now  tell  me  directly,  what  is  the 
matter." 

"It'll  be  such  a  humbly  picture  with  my 
hair  that  way.  I'd  ought  to  look  my  best. 
I'd  rather  you'd  paint  me  waiting  on  your 
table." 

"But  a  waitress  is  such  a  trite  subject. 

It  would  be  what  your  friend,  I  mean,  our 

friend,  Miss  King,  calls  bromidic.     An  artist. 

a  real  artist,  with  a  soul,  Amarilly,  doesn't 

[178] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

look  for  pretty  subjects.  It's  the  truth  that 
he  seeks.  To  paint  things  as  they  are  is  what 
he  aims  to  do.  A  little  scrub -girl  appeals  to 
the  artistic  temperament  more  than  a  little 
waitress,  don't  you  think?  But  only  you, 
Amarilly,  could  look  the  part  of  the  Little 
Scrub-Girl  as  you  did.  And  it  would  be 
incongruous  —  remember  the  word,  please, 
Amarilly,  in-con-gru-ous  —  to  paint  her  with 
stylishly  dressed  hair.  You  posed  so  easily, 
so  perfectly,  and  your  expression  was  so 
precisely  the  one  I  wanted,  and  your  patience 
in  keeping  the  pose  was  so  wonderful,  that  I 
thought  you  had  really  caught  the  spirit  of 
the  thing,  and  were  anxious  to  help  me  achieve 
my  really  great  picture." 

"I  have  —  I  will  pose  for  you  as  long  as 
you  wish,"  she  cried  penitently,  "and  I  will 
braid  my  hair  on  wire,  and  then  it  will  stand 
out  better." 

"Good!  You  are  a  dear,  amenable  little 
girl.  To-morrow  afternoon  we  will  resume. 
Here,  let  me  loosen  your  braids.  Goodness, 
what  thick  strands! 

She  stood  by  the  open  window,  and  the 
trembling,  marginal  lights  of  a  setting  sun 
sent  gleams  and  glints  of  gold  through  her 

[179] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

loosened  hair  which  fell  like  a  flaming  veil 
about  her. 

"Amarilly,"  exclaimed  Derry  rapturously, 
"I  never  saw  anything  quite  so  beautiful. 
Some  day  I'll  paint  you,  not  as  a  scrub-girl  nor 
as  a  waitress,  but  as  Sunset.  You  shall  stand 
at  this  window  with  your  hair  as  it  is  now, 
and  you'll  outshine  the  glory  of  descending 
Sol  himself.  I  will  get  a  filmy,  white  dress 
for  you  to  pose  in  and  present  it  to  you  after- 
ward. And  as  you  half  turn  your  head  to- 
ward the  window,  you  must  have  a  dreamy, 
reflective  expression.  You  must  think  of 
something  sad,  something  that  might  have 
been  a  tragedy  but  for  some  mitigating  - 
but  there,  you  don't  know  what  I  am  talking 
about!" 

'Yes,  I  do,  Mr.  Deny.     I  know  what  you 
mean,  even  if  I  didn't  ketch  - 

"Catch,  Amarilly;   not  ketch." 

"But   my    word   for    to-day    is    'afraid," 
she  said  stubbornly.     "I  wasn't  to  have  but 
one  word  a  day.     I'll  say  'ketch*  until  to- 


morrow." 


"Oh,  Amarilly,  such  system  as  you  have! 
You  are  right  though;  but  tell  me  what  it 
was  I  meant." 

[180] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

'You  mean  I  am  to  think  of  something 
awful  that  would  have  been  more  awful  but 
for  something  nice  that  happened.  I'll  think 
of  the  day  last  summer  when  we  couldn't 
pay  the  rent.  That  was  sad  until  the  bishop 
came  along  and  things  got  brighter." 

"Exactly.  You  have  the  temperament, 
Amarilly,  but  you  should  have  written  to 
your  twin  brother  in  such  a  dilemma.  It's 
late  now,  or  it  will  be  when  you  get  home. 
I  am  going  to  walk  with  you." 

"No;    I  am  not  afraid." 

"It  makes  no  difference;  I  am  going  with 
you.  To  think  that,  intimate  friends  as  we 
are,  I  have  never  seen  your  home,  your 
numerous  brothers,  and  the  Boarder.  I  am 
going  to  spend  the  evening  with  you." 

"Oh,  no!"  she  protested,  appalled  at  the 
prospect.  'You  mustn't." 

"  Why,  Amarilly,  how  inhospitable  you  are! 
I  thought  you  would  be  pleased." 

"I  guess  you  couldn't  stand  for  it." 

"Stand  for  what,  Amarilly?" 

"Why,  you  see,  I  am  not  ashamed  of  it, 
but  it's  so  diff'rent  from  what  you're  used  to, 
and  you  wouldn't  like  it,  and  I'd  feel  un- 
comfortable like  with  you  there." 

[181] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

"Why,  Amarilly!"  A  really  pained  look 
came  into  his  boyish  eyes.  "I  thought  we 
were  friends.  And  you  let  Miss  King  and 
your  minister  come- 

"But  you  see,"  argued  Amarilly,  "it's 
different  with  them.  A  minister  has  to  go 
everywhere,  and  he's  used  to  seeing  all  kinds 
of  houses;  and  then  Miss  King,  she's  a  sort 
of  a  —  settlement  worker." 

"I  see,"  said  Deny.  "But,  Amarilly,  to 
be  a  true  artist,  or  a  writer,  one  must  see  all 
sorts  and  conditions  of  life.  But  I  am  not 
coming  for  that.  I  am  coming  because  I 
like  you  and  want  to  meet  your  family." 

"Well,"  agreed  Amarilly,  resigned,  but 
playing  her  last  trump,  "you  haven't  had 
your  dinner  yet." 

"We  had  a  very  late  luncheon,  if  you  re- 
member, and  I  am  invited  to  a  supper  after 
the  theatre  to-night,  so  I  am  not  dining." 

Amarilly  did  not  respond  to  his  light  flow 
of  chatter  on  the'  way  home.  She  halted  on 
the  threshold  of  her  home,  and  looked  at  him 
with  despair  in  her  honest  young  eyes. 

"Our  house  hasn't  got  any  insides  or  any 
stairs  even.  Just  a  ladder." 

"Good!    I  knew  you  wouldn't -- that  you 
[182] 


couldn't  have  a  house  like  anyone's  else. 
It  sounds  interesting  and  artistic.  Open 
your  door  to  me,  Amarilly." 

Slowly  she  opened  the  door,  and  drew  a 
sigh  of  relief.  The  big  room  was  "tidied" 
("redded"  having  been  censored  by  Deny 
some  time  ago)  and  a  very  peaceful,  homelike 
atmosphere  prevailed.  The  Boarder,  being 
an  amateur  carpenter,  had  made  a  very  long 
table  about  which  were  grouped  the  entire 
family.  Her  mother  was  darning  socks;  the 
Boarder,  reading  the  paper  preliminary  to 
his  evening  call  on  Lily  Rose;  the  boys, 
busy  with  books  and  games;  Cory,  rocking 
her  doll  to  sleep. 

Their  entrance  made  quite  a  little  commo- 
tion. There  was  a  scattering  of  boys  from  the 
table  until  Deny  called  "Halt"  in  stentorian 
tones.  "If  there's  any  gap  in  the  circle,  I 
shall  go." 

Then  he  joined  the  group,  and  described 
to  the  boys  a  prize-fight  so  graphically  that 
their  eyes  fastened  on  him  with  the  gaze 
of  one  witnessing  the  event  itself.  He  praised 
Amarilly  to  the  mother,  gave  Cory  a  "tin 
penny"  which  she  at  once  recognized  as  a 
silver  quarter,  and  talked  politics  so  elo- 
[183] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

quently  with  the  Boarder  that  for  once  he 
was  loath  to  leave  when  the  hour  of  seven- 
thirty  arrived. 

"You've  gotter  go  now,"  reminded  Cory 
sternly.  :*You  see,"  turning  to  Deny,  "he's 
gotter  go  and  spend  his  ev'nin'  with  Lily 
Rose.  She's  his  gal." 

"Oh!  Well,  why  not  bring  her  here  to 
spend  the  evening?"  suggested  Deny.  "Then 
you'll  have  an  excuse  for  two  nice  walks  and 
an  evening  thrown  in." 

"That's  a  fine  idee!"  acknowledged  the 
Boarder  with  a  sheepish  grin. 

He  at  once  set  out  on  his  quest  accompa- 
nied by  Bobby,  whom  Deny  had  dispatched 
to  the  corner  grocery  for  a  supply  of  candy 
and  peanuts. 

The  Boarder  and  Lily  Rose  came  in  laden 
with  refreshments.  The  Boarder  bore  a  jug 
of  cider  "right  on  the  turn,"  he  declared,  "so 
it  stings  your  throat  agoin'  down." 

Lily  Rose  had  brought  a  bag  of  sugared 
doughnuts  which  she  had  made  that  afternoon 
(a  half  holiday)  in  her  landlady's  kitchen. 

When  Mrs.  Jenkins  learned  from  Amarilly 
that  Deny  and  she  had  had  nothing  to  eat 
since  half  past  one,  she  brought  forth  a  pan 
[1841 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

of  beans  and  a  pumpkin  pie,  and  they  had  a 
genuine  New  England  supper.  The  Boarder 
recited  thrilling  tales  of  railroad  wrecks. 
Derry  listened  to  a  solo  by  Bud,  whose  wild- 
honeyed  voice  was  entrancing  to  the  young 
artist.  Altogether  they  were  a  jolly  little 
party,  Lily  Rose  saying  little,  but  looking 
and  listening  with  animated  eyes.  Mrs. 
Jenkins  declared  afterwards  that  it  was  the 
time  of  her  life. 

"Amarilly,"  said  Derry,  as  he  was  taking 
leave,  "I  wouldn't  have  missed  this  evening 
for  any  other  engagement  I  might  have 
made." 

"That's  because  it  was  something  new  to 
you,"  said  Amarilly  sagely.  "You  wouldn't 
like  it  for  keeps." 


[185] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 


CHAPTER  XIX 

WHEN  Cory  secured  a  place  as  dish- 
wiper  at  a  new  boarding-house  near, 
and  Gus  realized  that  he  and  Iry  alone  were 
dependent  upon  the  others  for  their  keep, 
shame  seared  his  young  soul.  He  had  vainly 
tried  to  secure  steady  employment,  but  had 
succeeded  only  in  getting  occasional  odd  jobs. 
He  had  a  distinct  leaning  towards  an  agri- 
cultural life  and  coveted  the  care  of  cows. 

'The  grocer  has  sold  his'n,"  he  lugubriously 
lamented;  "thar  ain't  no  one  else  as  wants  a 
caretaker  for  their  critters  around  here." 

After  a  long  rumination  on  the  discouraging 
problem  of  his  future,  he  sought  his  confessor, 
the  corner  grocer. 

"I'm  too  big  to  peddle  papers  or  be  runnin* 
about  with  telergrafs,"  he  declared.  "I'd 
orter  be  goin'  into  business  on  my  own  ac- 
count. I  ain't  goin'  ter  be  allers  workin*  fer 
other  folks." 

"Well,  you'll  have  to  wait  a  while  before 
you  can  work  for  yourself,"  counselled  his 
confidant.  'You  are  young  yet." 

[186] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

'This  is  a  hurry-up  age,"  was  the  sagacious 
assertion,  "and  ef  you  air  agoin'  to  git  any- 
whar,  you've  got  ter  go  by  wire  instead  of 
by  mail,  and  you  can't  start  too  soon." 

'You  can't  start  nothing  without  capital," 
argued  the  grocer  conservatively. 

"Oh,"  admitted  the  young  financier,  "a 
little  capital  mebby.  I've  got  a  dollar  I've 
saved  up  from  odd  jobs." 

"  What  line  was  you  thinking  of  taking  up?  " 

"I'm  going  into  the  dairy  business.  Thar's 
money  in  milk  and  butter,  and  it's  nice, 
clean  work.'' 

'The  dairy  business  on  one  dollar!  How 
many  cows  and  wagons  and  horses  was  you 
figuring  on  buying  with  your  dollar?" 

"Don't  git  funny,"  warned  Gus  impatiently. 
"Some  day  I'll  hev  a  farm  of  my  own  and  a 
city  office,  but  I'll  begin  on  one  cow  in  our 
back  lot  and  peddle  milk  to  the  neighbors." 

"That  wouldn't  be  a  bad  beginning,  but  I 
reckon  you'll  find  the  start  will  cost  you  more 
than  a  dollar.  You  can't  get  a  cow  at  that 
figure." 

"Then  I'll  start  with  a  calf." 

"Well,  I  guess  calves  cost  more  than  a 
dollar." 

[187] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

"Say,  you've  got  that  dol  ar  on  the  brain, 
I  guess,"  retorted  the  lad  with  the  easy 
familiarity  that  betokened  long  acquaintance 
with  the  lounging  barrels  and  boxes  of  the 
corner  grocery.  "I  bet  it'll  build  a  shed  in 
our  back  yard.  Thar's  the  lumber  out  of  our 
shed  that  blowed  down,  and  the  Boarder  can 
build  purty  near  anything." 

"But  how  are  you  going  to  buy  a  cow?" 
persisted  his  inquisitor. 

"I  ain't  got  that  fer  yet,"  admitted  the 
young  dairyman. 

"Your  dollar'll  buy  more  than  the  nails 
for  your  cow-house.  You  can  put  the  bal- 
ance into  feed,"  said  the  grocer,  with  an  eye 
to  his  own  trade. 

He  wanted  to  add  that  it  wouldn't  cost 
much  to  feed  an  imaginary  critter,  but  he  was 
a  little  fearful  of  the  temper  back  of  the  lad's 
hair,  which  was  the  same  hue  as  Amarilly's. 

"That's  a  good  idea.  Well,  the  shed  starts 
to-morrow,  and  of  course  you  won't  say 
nothin'  about  it." 

"Trust  me  for  not  talking  in  this  neighbor- 
hood.    It   ain't   safe   even   to   think.     First 
you  know  your  thoughts   are  being  mega- 
phoned down  the  street." 
[188] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

Gus  consulted  the  Boarder  who  instantly 
and  obligingly  began  the  erection  of  a  building 
in  the  farthest  corner  of  the  Jenkins's  domain. 
This  structure  was  a  source  of  mystery  and 
excitement  to  the  neighbors. 

"What  on  airth  do  you  suppose  them 
Jenkinses  air  aputtin'  up  now?  Mebby 
it's  a  wash-house  for  the  surpluses,"  speculated 
Mrs.  Huce. 

"It  can't  be  they  air  agoin'  to  keep  a  hoss!" 
ejaculated  Mrs.  Wint. 

'You  never  kin  tell  nuthin'  about  them 
Jenkinses.  They're  so  sort  of  secretin'  like," 
lamented  Mrs.  Hudgers. 

The  Jenkins  family  were  fully  as  ignorant 
as  were  their  neighbors  of  the  nature  of  the 
contemplated  occupant  of  the  new  edifice 
commonly  referred  to  as  the  "cow-house." 
The  Boarder  put  up  a  very  substantial  shed 
with  a  four-paned  window  and  a  door  that 
locked  though  not  very  securely.  The  grocer 
had  on  hand  a  small  quantity  of  green  paint 
which  he  donated  to  the  cause  of  the  com- 
ing cow. 

"Thar  ain't  enough  to  more'n  paint  two 
sides  of  it,"  criticized  Gus,  "so  I'll  paint  the 
front  and  west  sides." 

[189] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

"Thar's  a  can  of  yaller  paint  out  in  the 
woodshed,"  informed  Mrs.  Jenkins.  'You 
can  paint  the  other  two  sides  with  that." 

Then  the  Boarder  made  a  suggestion: 

"If  I  was  you,  I'd  paint  a  strip  of  yaller 
and  then  one  of  green.  That'll  even  it  up 
and  make  it  fancy-like." 

Amarilly  protested  against  this  combination 
of  colors  so  repellent  to  artistic  eyes,  but  the 
family  all  agreed  that  it  "would  be  perfickly 
swell,"  so  she  withdrew  her  opposition  and 
confided  her  grievance  to  Derry's  sympathiz- 
ing, shuddering  ears. 

Gus  proceeded  to  bicolor  the  shed  in  stripes 
which  gave  the  new  building  a  bedizened  and 
bilious  effect  that  delighted  Colette,  who  re- 
velled in  the  annals  of  her  proteges. 

Each  member  of  the  Jenkins  family  had  a 
plan  for  utilizing  this  fine  domicile,  as  there 
seemed  to  be  a  general  feeling  of  skepticism 
regarding  the  ability  of  Gus  to  produce  a  cow 
in  the  flesh.  This  sentiment,  however,  was 
not  openly  expressed,  as  the  lad  was  found 
to  be  decidedly  sensitive  and  touchy  on  the 
subject. 

"Mebby  a  cow'll  jest  walk  right  into  the 
back  yard  and  make  herself  to  hum  in  the  new 

[190] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY, 

shed,"  prognosticated  Mrs.  Jenkins  optimis- 
tically. "It's  such  a  beautiful  place.  I'll 
bet  there  is  cows  as  would  ef  they  knowed 
about  it. " 

"I  perpose,"  suggested  Flamingus  patron- 
izingly, "that  we  start  a  cow  fund  and  all 
chip  in  and  help  Gus  out." 

"Sure  thing!"  declared  the  generous 
Amarilly.  "He  can  have  all  my  savings. 
We  ought  to  all  help  Gus  get  a  start." 

"I'm  in,"  cried  Bobby. 

'You  kin  hev  all  you  want  from  me,  Gus," 
offered  Bud. 

Firmly  and  disdainfully  Gus  rejected  all 
these  offers  and  suggestions. 

'Thar  ain't  agoin'  to  be  no  pardner  business 
about  this,"  he  announced.  'The  cow  won't 
come  till  she's  mine  —  all  mine  —  and  when 
she  does,  I'm  agoin'  to  pay  the  Boarder  for 
his  work." 

"If  he  wants  to  be  so  all-fired  smart,  we 
won't  help  him  git  no  cow,"  declared  Flamin- 
gus, "  and  the  shed  kin  be  used  for  a  summer 
kitchen  arter  all." 

This  use  of  the  new  building  had  been  the 
fondest  dream  of  Mrs.  Jenkins,  who  deemed 
it  an  ideal  place  in  which  to  keep  her  tubs, 
[191] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

mops,  boiler,  and  wringer.  Milt  had  designs 
upon  it  for  a  boy's  reading-room  and  club; 
Flamingus  coveted  a  gymnasium.  Bobby, 
Bud,  Cory,  and  Iry  had  already  appropriated 
it  as  a  playhouse. 

Amarilly  openly  and  ably  defended  Gus 
and  his  cherished,  illusory  plan.  Of  all  her 
brothers,  he  was  the  one  to  whom  her  heart 
most  inclined.  For  Bud  she  possibly  had  a 
more  tender,  maternal  feeling  on  account  of 
his  being  so  delicate.  She  paid  homage  to 
the  good  points  of  Flamingus,  but  he  was  too 
cut  and  dried,  "bromidic, "  she  classified  him, 
for  Deny  had  carefully  explained  the  ety- 
mology of  the  word.  Milt  was  honest,  but 
selfish  and  "near."  Bobby  was  disposed  to 
be  fresh,  but  Gus  was  just  such  a  boy  as 
Amarilly  herself  would  have  been,  reincar- 
nated. He  was  practical,  industrious,  thrifty, 
and  shrewd,  and  yet  possessed  of  the  imagina- 
tion and  optimism  of  his  sister.  She  called 
him  aside  one  day  for  a  private  consultation. 

"Say,  Gus,  your  scheme's  all  right.  Go 
ahead  and  get  your  cow.  I'll  let  you  have 
my  savings,  and  the  other  boys  needn't  know. 
You  can  pay  me  when  you  get  ready  to." 

''That's  bully  in  you,  Amarilly,  but  I'm 
[192] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

agoin'  to  see  this  thing  through  alone  and 
start  in  without  no  help  from  no  one,"  firmly 
refused  Gus,  and  his  sturdy  little  sister  could 
but  admire  him  for  his  independence. 

He  locked  up  his  new  possession  very 
carefully,  putting  the  key  in  his  pocket  every 
morning  before  going  to  the  business  precincts 
to  pick  up  a  job.  The  children,  however, 
were  not  dispossessed  by  this  precaution,  find- 
ing ingress  and  egress  through  the  window. 
Gus  most  opportunely  secured  a  week's  job 
driving  a  delivery-wagon,  and  he  instantly 
invested  his  wages  in  the  provisioning  of 
the  cow  quarters. 

"The  feed'll  git  stale  by  the  time  the  cow 
comes,"  objected  Milt. 

"  Mebby  it's  fer  bait  to  ketch  a  critter  with," 
offered  Bobby. 

After  all,  it  was  the  miracle  predicted  by 
Mrs.  Jenkins  that  came  to  pass  and  delivered 
the  cow.  Early  one  morning,  when  Gus  went 
as  usual  with  fond  pride  to  view  his  sole  asset, 
he  found  installed  therein  a  young,  corpu- 
lent cow,  bland  and  Texas-horned,  busily 
engaged  in  partaking  of  the  proceeds  of  Gus's 
last  week's  wages.  She  turned  inquiring, 
meditative  eyes  toward  the  delighted  lad, 

[193] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

who  promptly  locked  the  door  and  rushed 
into  the  house  to  inform  the  family  of  the 
new  arrival. 

"She's  lost  or  strayed,  but  not  stolen," 
said  Amarilly. 

"Bobby,  you  put  an  ad  in  that  paper  you 
deliver  at  once,"  commanded  Mrs.  Jenkins. 
"Some  poor  people  air  feelin'  bad  over  the 
loss  of  their  cow." 

It  was  considered  only  fair  that  the  cow 
should  pay  for  her  meal.  She  was  over- 
stocked with  milk  and  graciously  and  grate- 
fully yielded  to  Gus's  efforts  to  relieve  her 
of  her  load.  The  children  were  each  given  a 
taste  of  the  warm  milk,  and  then  the  little 
dairyman  started  right  in  for  business.  The 
milkman  had  not  yet  made  his  morning 
rounds,  and  the  neighbors  were  so  anxious  to 
cross-examine  Gus  that  they  were  more  than 
willing  to  patronize  him.  Excitement  pre- 
vailed when  it  was  learned  that  the  Jenkins 
family  had  a  cow,  and  the  lad's  ingenuity 
in  dodging  questions  was  severely  taxed.  He 
avoided  direct  replies,  but  finally  admitted 
that  it  was  "one  they  was  keepin'  fer  some 
folks." 

A  week  went  by,  with  no  claim  filed  for 
[194] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

the  animal  that  had  come  so  mysteriously 
and  seemed  so  perfectly  at  home.  Gus  es- 
tablished a  permanent  milk  route  in  the  im- 
mediate neighborhood,  and  with  his  ability 
once  more  to  "bring  in"  came  the  restora- 
tion of  his  self-respect. 

"It's  funny  we  don't  git  no  answer  to  that 
ad,"  mused  Mrs.  Jenkins  perplexedly.  "How 
many  times  did  you  run  it,  Bobby?" 

For  a  moment  silence,  deep,  profound,  and 
charged  with  expectancy  prevailed.  Then 
like  a  bomb  came  Bobby's  reply: 

"I  ain't  put  it  in  at  all." 

Everybody  was  vociferous  in  condemna- 
tion, but  Bobby,  unabashed,  held  his  ground, 
and  logically  defended  his  action. 

"  I  got  the  news-agent  to  (  look  in  the 
'losts'  every  night,  and  thar  want  nothin' 
about  no  cow.  'Twas  up  to  them  as  lost  it 
to  advertise  instead  of  us.  If  they  didn't 
want  her  bad  enough  to  run  an  ad,  they 
couldn't  hev  missed  her  very  much." 

"That's  so,"  agreed  the  Boarder,  convinced 
by  Bobby's  able  argument. 

"Most   likely   she  doesn't  belong   to   any 
one,"  was  Amarilly's  theory.     "She  just  came 
to  stay  a  while,  and  then  she'll  go  away  again." 
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AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

"She  won't  git  no  chanst  to  'scape,  unless 
she  kin  go  out  the  way  the  chillern  does," 
laughed  Mrs.  Jenkins. 

One  day  the  Boarder  brought  home  some 
information  that  seemed  to  throw  light  on 
the  subject. 

"One  of  the  railroad  hands  told  me  that  a 
big  train  of  cattle  was  sidetracked  up  this 
way  somewhar  the  same  night  the  cow  come 
here.  The  whole  keerload  got  loose,  but 
they  ketched  them  all,  or  thought  they  did. 
Mebby  they  didn't  miss  this  ere  one,  or  else 
they  couldn't  wait  to  look  her  up.  Their 
train  pulled  out  as  soon  as  they  rounded  up 
the  bunch." 

"I  guess  the  cow-house  looked  to  her  like 
it  was  a  freight  car,"  observed  Milt,  "and 
she  thought  she  hed  got  back  where  she 
belonged." 

The  cow,  meanwhile,  quietly  chewed  her 
cud,  and  continued  to  endear  herself  to  the 
hearts  of  all  the  Jenkins  family  save  Cory. 
Every  time  Bobby  spoke  her  name  he  called 
to  her,  "Co,  boss!  Co,  boss,"  just  as  Gus 
did  when  he  greeted  the  cow. 

As  for  the  little  dairyman  himself,  he  gave 
his  charge  the  best  of  care.  He  took  her  for 

[196] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

a  little  outing  every  day  to  a  near-by  lot  where 
she  could  graze,  being  careful  to  keep  a 
stout  rope  attached  to  her,  although  they 
walked  to  and  from  the  recreation  ground 
side  by  side.  Deny  painted  a  little  picture 
of  the  pair  as  he  saw  them  returning  from 
a  jaunt.  Gus's  arm  was  lovingly  thrown 
around  the  neck  of  the  gentle  creature,  and 
her  Texas  horns  were  adorned  with  a  wreath 
of  brown-eyed  Susans  woven  by  Cory. 

It  remained  for  Mrs.  Jenkins  to  christen 
the  creature. 

"'  Cowslip/  she  declared  triumphantly, 
"'cause  she  just  slipped  in." 


[197] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 


CHAPTER  XX 

A  MARILLY'S  pace  in  learning  English 
*L**  from  Derry  during  the  following  winter 
was  only  excelled  by  her  proficiency  in  mathe- 
matics. "Figgerin"  the  Boarder  declared 
to  be  his  long  suit,  and  his  young  pupil  worked 
every  example  in  Flamingus's  arithmetic,  and 
employed  her  leisure  moments  in  solving 
imaginary  problems.  Then  came  an  even- 
ing when  she  put  her  knowledge  to  practical 
use  and  application.  She  had  been  working 
absorbedly  with  pencil  and  paper  for  some 
time  when  she  looked  up  from  her  sheet  of 
figures  with  a  flushed  face  and  a  Q.  E.  D. 
written  in  each  shining  eye. 

"Say!"  she  announced  to  the  family  who 
were  gathered  about  the  long  table. 

Instantly  they  were  all  attention,  for  they 
always  looked  to  Amarilly  for  something  star- 
tling in  the  way  of  bulletins. 

"I've  been  setting  down  and  adding  up 
what  we  all  bring  in  each  week.  Ma's 
washings,  the  Boarder's  board,  my  studio 

[198] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

work,  Flamingus'  and  Milt's  wages,  Gus's 
cow,  Bud's  singing,  Go's  dish-washing,  and 
Bobby's  papers.  What  do  you  suppose  it 
all  amounts  to?" 

She  allowed  a  few  seconds  of  tragic  silence 
to  ensue  before  she  gave  the  electrifying  total. 

"Land    sakes!      Who'd  'a    thought    it!" 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Jenkins. 

"We'd  orter  hev  ice-cream  and  pie  every 
day,"  reproached  Cory. 

"It  would  be  reckoned  a  purty  big  salary 
if  one  man  got  it  all,"  speculated  the  Boarder. 

"We  are  rich!"  exclaimed  Bobby  de- 
cisively. 

"I'll  tell  you  what  we'll  do,"  pursued 
Amarilly.  "We  must  start  a  syndicate." 

"What's  that,  a  show?"  demanded  Flam- 
ingus. 

"No;  I  heard  the  artists  down  to  the 
studio  talking  about  it,  and  Mr.  Derry 
explained  it.  He  said  when  a  lot  of  folks 
put  their  cash  on  hand  together  in  one  pile, 
they  can  buy  something  big  and  do  more 
than  as  if  they  spent  it  separate." 

"Well,  I  ain't  a  goin'  to  put  my  money  in 
with  Go's,"  said  Milt  sarcastically.     "Would- 
n't be  much  profit  for  me  in  that." 
[199] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

"You  don't  catch  on,"  replied  Amarilly. 
"If  you  should  put  in  one  dollar,  and  Co 
should  put  in  ten  cents,  at  the  end  of  a  certain 
time,  you'd  draw  out  ten  dollars  and  Co 
would  only  draw  out  one.  See?" 

"I  do,"  said  the  practical  Gus. 

"Well,  now  let's  put  our  money  into  some- 
thing and  all  own  it  together,  each  one's 
share  according  to  what  we  put  in.  Let's 
buy  this  house!" 

They  all  stared  in  amazement. 

"Buy  a  house!  You  are  sure  crazy, 
Amarilly!"  exclaimed  Milt. 

"We  could  buy  it  cheap,"  continued  Ama- 
rilly unabashed.  "I  heard  the  grocer  saying 
yesterday  that  property  around  here  was  at 
a  low  figure  now.  We  could  put  our  savings 
together  and  make  a  payment  down,  and 
instead  of  paying  rent  let  it  go  on  the  balance 
each  month.  Before  we  knew  it  we'd  own 
the  house,  and  the  deed  could  be  made  out 
to  show  how  much  of  it  each  one  owned." 

"I  choose  the  pantry!"  cried  Cory. 

"I  guess  if  you  could  buy  a  window-pane 
with  what  you've  got,  you'd  do  well,"  ob- 
served Milt  in  a  withering  tone, 

'That's  a  splendid  idee,  Amarilly!"  de- 
[200] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

clared  the  Boarder  enthusiastically.  "I  don't 
know  what  better  investment  you  could 
make." 

"It  would  be  fine,"  sighed  Mrs.  Jenkins, 
"to  own  your  own  place  and  feel  that  no  one 
could  turn  you  out." 

'You've  got  a  great  head,  Amarilly," 
complimented  Gus. 

"We  could  borrow  on  the  house  if  we  ever 
got  hard  up,  or  the  fever  struck  us  again," 
said  Flamingus. 

"Well,"  proposed  Amarilly,  the  ever-ready, 
"let's  get  right  at  it.  I'll  set  down  our 
names,  and  when  I  call  the  roll,  tell  me  how 
much  you've  saved  and  will  put  -in  the  house." 

There  was  a  general  rush  for  bank-books, 
for  ever  since  the  preceding  fall,  the  six 
oldest  children  had  paid  their  board,  clothed 
themselves,  and  saved  the  balance  of  their 
earnings. 

From  her  washings,  the  revenue  from  the 
board  of  the  children  and  Boarder,  Mrs. 
Jenkins  had  paid  the  rent  and  the  household 
expenses.  By  thrifty  management  she  had 
also  acquired  a  bank  account  herself. 

"Ma!"  called  Amarilly  expectantly. 

There  had  been  much  urging  on  the  part  of 
[201] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

Derry  in  his  zeal  for  language  reform  to 
induce  his  young  pupil  to  say  "mother," 
but  in  this  sole  instance  Amarilly  had  refused 
to  take  his  will  for  law. 

"She's  always  been  'ma'  to  me,  and  she 
always  will  be,"  declared  Amarilly  emphati- 
cally. "If  I  were  to  call  her  anything  else 
I'd  feel  as  if  I  had  lost  her  —  as  if  she  didn't 
belong  to  me." 

Ma  triumphantly  announced:  "Forty-seven 
dollars  and  fifty-one  cents." 

"A  fine  starter,"  commended  Amarilly. 
"Flamingus?" 

"Forty  dollars,"  he  announced  with 
pride. 

"Milt?"  Amarilly  called  his  name  in  faint 
voice.  He  was  the  only  tight-tendencied 
member  of  the  household,  and  she  feared  he 
might  decline  to  give.  But  Milt  was  envious 
and  emulative. 

"Forty-two  dollars  and  sixty-nine  cents," 
he  declared  in  a  voice  rendered  triumphant 
by  the  fact  of  his  having  beaten  Flam. 

Amarilly  drew  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"It's  going  to  add  up  fine,  now.  Guess 
I'll  take  my  own  account  next.  I  haven't 
got  as  much  as  you  boys,  though." 

[202] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

"  Shouldn't  think  you  would  have,"  said 
Gus  sympathizingly.  ;'You  don't  earn  so 
much,  and  yet  you  pay  ma  as  much,  and  don't 
take  out  nuthin'  fer  your  noon  meal.  And 
you  give  Co  things." 

"I've  earned  quite  a  bit,"  replied  Amarilly 
cheerfully.  "Besides  what  Mr.  Derry  gives 
me,  there's  what  I've  had  from  odd  jobs  like 
letting  the  artists  paint  my  hair,  and  taking 
care  of  Mrs.  Wick's  baby  afternoons  when  she 
goes  to  card  parties.  I've  got  thirty  dollars 
to  put  in.  Gus?" 

'  Thirty  -five  dollars,"  he  replied  in  a  pleased 
tone. 

"Bud?" 

They  all  looked  expectantly.  Bud  received 
ten  dollars  each  Sunday  now,  and  he  had  been 
singing  at  concerts,  organ  recitals,  and  enter- 
tainments all  winter.  On  account  of  these 
latter  engagements,  he  had  been  obliged  to 
expend  a  considerable  amount  in  clothes 
suitable  to  the  occasion.  When  Bud  donned 
his  "evening  clothes,"  which  consisted  of 
black  silk  hose,  patent  leather  pumps,  black 
velvet  suit  with  Irish  crochet  collar  and  cuffs^ 
purchased  under  the  direction  of  Mr.  Derry, 
Amarilly  always  felt  uncomfortable. 
[203] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

"Don't  seem  fair  to  Bobby  when  they're 
so  near  twins,"  she  thought. 

One  day,  however,  she  overheard  Bud 
sweetly  offer  to  buy  his  near  half  a  similar 
outfit.  Amarilly  listened  eagerly  for  Bobby's 
answer  which  brought  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"I  wouldn't  wear  one  of  them  rigs  on  a 
bet,"  he  had  scoffingly  answered. 

"One  hundred  and  twenty -five  dollars," 
Bud  now  replied  modestly. 

"Gee!  you  take  the  cake !"  said  Bobby. 

Amarilly  was  sorry  that  she  had  to  call 
Bobby's  name  next.  But  Bobby  had  a 
surprise  in  store  for  them  all. 

"Forty-eight  dollars!"  he  cried  gleefully, 
giving  Flam,  Milt,  and  Gus  exultant  glances. 
"Beat  the  hull  of  ye,  except  Bud!" 

"How  in  the  world  did  you  ever  do  it  on 
paper  routes?"  asked  Amarilly  wonderingly. 

Bobby  winked  at  his  mother. 

"Shall  we  tell  our  secret?"  he  asked. 
"You  tell,  Ma." 

"You  see,"  she  explained,  "when  the 
clo'es  are  bilin'  arter  you  hev  all  gone  to  work 
and  to  school,  I've  made  twenty  little  pies 
and  when  Bobby  got  out  of  school,  he'd 
come  hum  and  git  'em  and  take  'em  up  to  the 

[204] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

High  School.  The  girls  bought  'em  at  five 
cents  apiece.  The  stuff  to  make  'em  cost 
about  two  cents  a  pie." 

"And  Bobby  got  all  the  profit!"  expostu- 
lated Milt  indignantly. 

"Bobby  paid  me  by  taking  the  clo'es  off  en 
the  line  and  bringin'  them  in  every  night, 
and  fetchin'  the  water,"  she  replied  chidingly. 
"We  was  goin'  to  keep  it  a  secret  till  he  got 
enough  to  buy  a  pony." 

"But  I'd  ruther  buy  a  house,"  said  Bobby. 

"I  ain't  got  enough  to  come  in  no  snidikit," 
sobbed  Co.  "I  ain't  saved  much." 

'That's  because  you  spend  all  you  earn  on 
candy,"  rebuked  Milt. 

"I  ain't  nuther.  I  bought  me  some  rubbers 
and  Iry  some  playthings." 

"How  much  have  you  got,  Co?"  asked 
Amarilly  gently. 

"Two  dollars  and  ninety-seven  cents,"  she 
said,  weeping  profusely. 

"I  think  that's  pretty  good  for  a  little 
girl,"  said  Amarilly.  "All  you  strapping 
boys  ought  to  chip  in  out  of  your  cash  on 
hand  what  isn't  in  the  bank  and  give  her 
some  so  she  could  be  in  on  it.  Here  is  fifty 
cents  from  me,  Co." 

[205] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

"I'll  give  you  fifty,  Co,"  said  her  mother. 

"Me,  too,"  said  Flamingus. 

The  other  boys  followed  with  equal  con- 
tributions, Bud  generously  donating  a  five- 
dollar  bill  he  had  received  that  day  for  a 
solo  at  a  musicale  given  by  Miss  Lyte. 

"Here's  fifty  cents  from  me,"  said  the 
Boarder,  who  had  remained  very  thoughtful 
during  this  transaction. 

"Eleven  dollars  and  forty -seven  cents  for 
Co,"  announced  Amarilly. 

The  little  girl's  eyes  shone  through  her 
tears. 

"Seems  too  bad  that  Iry  is  the  only  one 
left  out,"  said  Mrs.  Jenkins. 

"When  he  gits  old  enough  to  work,  he  can 
come  in,"  said  Milt.  "Add  her  up,  Ama- 
rilly." 

'Three  hundred  and  sixty-nine  dollars  and 
sixty -seven  cents!"  almost  screamed  Ama- 
rilly. 

"Gee!"  chorused  the  boys. 

"Purty  near  buy  the  old  shack,"  said 
Flamingus. 

"Our  landlord,"  said  Amarilly  sagaciously, 
"is  a  shark,  and  he'll  try  to  get  the  best  of 
us.  I  am  going  to  get  Mr.  Vedder  to  do  the 
[206] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

business  for  us,  and  he'll  get  the  deed  in  all 
our  names." 

"Put  in  Iry's  too,"  pleaded  Mrs.  Jenkins 
solicitous  for  her  Benjamin. 

"I'll  put  it  to  vote,"  said  parliamentary 
Amarilly .  "  Who's  for  Iry  ?  " 

"Me,  me,  me,"  came  from  all,  though 
Milt's  response  was  reluctant. 

"I  will  see  Mr.  Vedder  to-morrow,  so  we 
can  begin  to  let  the  rent  apply  right  off," 
said  Amarilly. 

"We'll  take  more  pride  in  keeping  it  fixed 
up  now,"  remarked  Flamingus.  "I'll  mend 
the  window-panes  and  the  door  hinges." 

"And  I'll  build  some  stairs  and  put  up  a 
partition  or  two,"  promised  the  Boarder. 

"I'll  paint  it,"  said  Gus,  proud  of  his  for- 
mer work  in  this  direction.  Amarilly  secretly 
resolved  to  select  the  color. 

"I'll  make  curtains  and  rag  rugs  and  sofa 
pillows,"  she  observed. 

"And  I'll  buy  some  cheers  and  a  hangin' 
lamp,"  said  Mrs.  Jenkins.  "Don't  all  this 
talk  make  you  want  to  housekeep?"  she 
asked  with  a  knowing  glance  in  the  Boarder's 
direction. 

He  shook  his  head  thoughtfully,  but  when 
[207] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

the  boys  and-  Cory  had  gone  to  bed,  he  un- 
folded a  proposition  that  he  had  been  evolv- 
ing during  their  financial  discussion,  and 
which  now  found  overwhelming  favor  and 
enthusiasm  with  his  hearers. 

The  next  day  Amarilly  called  upon  Mr. 
Vedder  at  the  theatre. 

"He's  got  more  sound  business  to  him  than 
Mr.  Deny  or  Mr.  St.  John,"  she  shrewdly 
decided. 

When  she  told  him  her  plan  and  showed 
him  her  figures,  he  most  heartily  approved. 

"The  house,  of  course,  isn't  worth  any- 
thing," he  said,  "but  land  down  that  way  is 
a  good  investment.  Who  is  your  landlord?" 

She  gave  him  the  name  and  address. 

"I  am  glad  you  came  to  me,  Amarilly, 
instead  of  to  your  newer  friends." 

"Oh,  you  know  more  about  it  than  they 
do,"  she  replied,  "and  besides,  some  way  I 
wouldn't  feel  as  if  I  were  bothering  you." 

"Not  a  bit  of  bother,  Amarilly,  and  I  hope 
you  will  always  feel  that  way." 

The  ticket-seller  was  prompt,  thorough,  and 
shrewd  in  the  matter.  He  had  a  friend  in  the 
real  estate  business,  who  appraised  the  prop- 
erty for  him,  and  he  proved  most  diplomatic 

[208] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

in  his  dealing  with  the  surprised  landlord, 
who  fortunately  chanced  to  be  in  dire  need 
of  some  ready  cash.  In  an  incredibly  short 
space  of  time  the  bargain  was  closed. 

The  Jenkins  family  including  the  Boarder 
and  Iry  left  the  house  one  noon,  each  bearing 
a  red  bank-book.  To  the  onlookers  in  the 
neighborhood,  this  Armada  was  all-impressive. 

"Looks  like  a  run  on  the  bank,"  said  the 
Boarder  facetiously,  as  they  all  trooped  up 
the  steps  to  the  big  stone  building. 

The  payment  was  made,  and  the  deeds 
drawn  in  the  names  of  all  the  family,  but  to 
the  list  was  also  added  the  name  of  the 
Boarder. 


[209  ] 


AMARELLY  OF  CLOTHE&-LINE  ALLEY 


CHAPTER  XXI 

"T  DONT  see,"  observed  Colette,  on  learn- 
A  ing  of  the  existence  and  development  of 
the  syndicate,  "why  the  Boarder  is  in  on  it. 
I  thought  he  was  going  to  have  a  Lily  Rose 
garden  all  his  own.'* 

"AVe  thought  so,  too,"  replied  Amarilly. 
"He's  been  saving  up  to  get  married,  and 
he's  got  a  raise  now,  so  the  day  is  set  for  some 
time  in  June;  but  he  told  us  the  night  we 
were  first  planning  to  buy  the  house  that  he 
wanted  to  be  one  of  the  syndicate.  You  see 
Lily  Rose  works  -  -  I  mean  she  overworks  - 
in  a  factory,  and  so  the  Boarder  —  you  know 
he  is  awful  gentle-like  to  her  —  says  that  she 
mustn't  keep  house  or  do  anything  but  real 
light  work  after  this.  He  has  an  interest  in 
the  house  now,  and  he  is  going  to  build  on  a 
sort  of  an  annex  with  a  sitting-room  and  a 
bedroom  and  furnish  it  up  fine,  and  when 
they  are  married,  they  are  going  to  live  there 
and  take  their  meals  with  us.  And  they  want 
Mr.  St.  John  to  marry  them,  and  they  want 

[210] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

you  to  come.  And  Mr.  Deny  is  coming.  He 
asked  to  be  invited." 

For  once  Colette  did  not  laugh  at  the 
chronicles  of  the  Jenkins  family.  A  very 
tender  look  came  into  her  flashing  eyes. 

:'That  is  very  sweet  in  him  —  in  the 
Boarder  -  -  to  feel  that  way  and  to  be  so 
tender  with  Lily  Rose.  She  ought  to  be  very 
happy  with  a  love  and  protection  like  that 
awaiting  her." 

"Yes,"  assented  Amarilly;  "it  must  be 
very  nice  to  feel  like  that,  and  Mr.  Derry  says 
he  really  believes  that  it  is  only  with  poor 
folks  like  us  and  the  Boarder  and  Lily  Rose 
that  love  runs  smooth." 

'Then,"  said  Colette  musingly,  "I  wish 
I  were  poor  —  like  you  and  the  Boarder  and 
Lily  Rose!" 

Amarilly  secretly  divined  that  this  was 
merely  a  thought  spoken  aloud,  so  she  made 
no  comment.  She  had  pondered  a  great  deal 
over  the  attitude  of  her  two  friends  towards 
each  other.  The  only  place  she  ever  en- 
countered them  together  was  at  church  and 
to  her  observing  eyes  it  was  quite  apparent 
that  there  was  a  restraint  in  their  bearing. 
Amarilly  remained  so  preoccupied  with  her 

[211] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

thoughts  that  Colette,  looking  at  her  search- 
ingly,  became  curious  as  to  the  cause. 

"Amarilly,"  she  commanded,  "tell  me 
what  you  were  thinking  of  just  now-- 1 
mean  since  I  spoke  last.  I  shall  know  by 
your  eyes  if  you  don't  tell  me  exactly." 

"Mr.  Deny  says  my  eyes  will  always  give 
me  away,"  evaded  Amarilly. 

"Of  course  they  will.  You  can  never  be 
a  flirt,  Amarilly." 

"I  don't  want  to,"  she  replied  indignantly. 

Colette  laughed. 

"Well,  tell  me  what  you  were  thinking 
about?" 

"I  was  wondering  if  Mr.  St.  John  wasn't 
trying  any  more  to  find  that  thing  you  lost 
in  the  surplice  pocket." 

"Oh,  Amarilly,  has  Mr.  Phillips  censored 
that  word,  too?  I  was  in  hopes  he  would 
never  hear  you  say  '  surplus, '  so  he  could  not 
correct  you." 

"I  told  him  you  didn't  want  me  to  speak 
correctly,"  said  Amarilly  a  little  resentfully. 

'You  did!"  cried  Colette,  looking  rather 
abashed.  "And  what  did  he  say?" 

"He  said  it  was  selfish  in  you  to  think  more 
of  your  amusement  than  of  my  improvement." 

[212] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

Colette  colored  and  was  silent  a  moment. 

"He's  right,  Amarilly,"  she  said  impul- 
sively. "  I  am  selfish  to  everyone.  All  I  have 
ever  cared  for  is  to  be  entertained  and  made 
to  laugh.  I  have  been  as  selfish  to  St.  John 
as  I  have  to  you  and  -  -  I'll  tell  you  a  secret, 
Amarilly,  because  I  know  that  I  can  trust 
you.  I've  gone  just  a  little  bit  too  far  with 
St.  John.  I  told  him  he  needn't  ever  come 
to  see  me  again  until  he  found  what  was  in 
the  pocket  of  the  surplice,  and  he  took  me  at 
my  word." 

"He  did  all  he  could  to  find  it,"  said 
Amarilly,  immediately  on  the  defence  for  the 
rector. 

"I  know  he  did,  but  you  see  before  this  I've 
always  had  everything  I've  asked  for,  even 
impossible  things,  and  I  didn't  want  to  have 
him  fail  me.  I  have  been  selfish  and  exact- 
ing with  him,  and  I  think  he  realizes  it  now." 

"Well,  when  you're  in  the  wrong,  all  you've 
got  to  do  is  to  say  so." 

"That  isn't  easy,  Amarilly." 

"But  it's  right." 

"  Oh,  Amarilly,  you're  like  a  man  with  your 
right  and  your  wrong!" 

"But  you  would  make  yourself  happy,  too, 
[213] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

if  you  told  him  you  knew  it  wasn't  up  to  him 
any  more  to  find  that." 

"I'd  rather  be  unhappy  and  stick  to  what 
I  said.  I  must  have  my  own  way,  Amarilly." 

"Well,"  said  Amarilly,  abandoning  an 
apparently  hopeless  subject,  "I  came  to  ask 
you  to  do  me  —  us  —  the  Boarder  and  Lily 
Rose,  I  mean,  a  favor." 

"What  is  it,  Amarilly?" 

"Why,  as  I  said,  they  want  Mr.  St.  John 
to  marry  them,  and  they're  afraid  he  won't 
want  to  because  he  —  well -- because  he 
isn't  their  kind,  you  know,  and  he  has  such  a 
fashionable  church." 

"And  you  don't  know  St.  John  better  than 
that?" 

"Why,  yes;  of  course  I  do,  but  they  don't 
know  him  at  all,  you  know.  And  the 
Boarder  is  real  shy,  anyhow.  And  so  I  told 
him  I'd  ask  you  to  ask  him." 

"Why  don't  you  ask  him?" 

"I  think  it  would  please  him  so  to  have  you 
ask.  He  likes  to  have  you  take  interest  in 
others." 

"Amarilly,  you  are  a  regular  little  Sher- 
lock! Well,  yes,  I  will,"  promised  Colette, 
secretly  glad  of  this  opportunity  for  friendly 
[214] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

converse  with  John  once  more,  "but  if  the 
-Annex  has   to   be   built   first,   there's   no 
hurry." 

;<Yes,  there  is.  The  Boarder  wants  every- 
thing settled  now,  so  they  can  be  looking 
forward  to  it." 

"Very  well,  Amarilly.  I'll  see  him  to- 
morrow night.  Will  that  do?" 

"Oh,  yes;  thank  you,  Miss  King." 

"Tell  me  more  about  the  wedding  plans. 
Are  you  to  be  bridesmaid?" 

"She  isn't  going  to  have  one.  It  won't  be 
a  stylish  wedding,  you  know.  Just  quiet- 
like  one  of  our  neighborhood  evenings.  Only 
when  I  told  Mr.  Derry  about  it,  he  said  he 
should  come  up  that  afternoon  and  trim  the 
house  up  with  greens,  and  that  he  should 
come  to  see  them  married." 

"And  I  shall  furnish  the  flowers  and  the 
bride's  bouquet.  Let  me  see,  I  think  lilies 
of  the  valley  and  pink  roses  would  suit  Lily 
Rose,  don't  you?" 

'They  will  be  beautiful,"  said  Amarilly, 
beaming.  "And  we  are  going  to  have  a  real 
swell  meal.  I  have  learned  to  make  salads 
and  ices,  and  then  we'll  have  coffee  and 
sandwiches  and  bride's  cake  beside." 
[215] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

"Some  one  has  to  give  the  bride  away, 
you  know,  Amarilly,  in  Episcopal  wed- 
dings." 

"I  know  it.  But  poor  Lily  Rose  has  no 
one  that  belongs  to  her.  Her  relations  are 
all  dead.  That's  another  reason  why  the 
Boarder  is  so  nice  to  her.  So  ma  is  going 
to  give  her  away.  We're  going  to  ask  the 
neighbors  and  you  and  Mr.  Deny  and  Mr. 
Cotter,  of  course.  He's  the  brakeman  friend 
of  the  Boarder." 

"And  are  the  Boarder  and  Lily  Rose  going 
away?" 

'Yes;  the  Boarder  can  get  a  pass  to 
Niagara  Falls.  They  are  going  to  stay  there 
a  week.  Lily  Rose  has  never  been  on  the 
cars.  And  they  are  going  to  ride  to  the 
train  in  a  hack." 

"Why,  it's  going  to  be  quite  an  affair," 
said  Colette  enthusiastically.  "We'll  throw 
an  old  shoe  and  some  rice  after  them.  And 
will  she  be  married  in  white?" 

Amarilly 's  face  fell. 

"I  am  afraid  she  can't  afford  a  wedding 

dress.     She's  got  to  get  a  travelling  suit  and 

hat  and  gloves   and   shoes,   and  with  other 

things  it  will  take  all  she  has  saved.     She'd 

[216] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

like  a  white  dress  and  a  veil  and  get  her 
picture  taken  in  it  to  hang  up  by  the  side  of 
the  Boarder's  in  the  surplice.  And  that 
makes  me  think,  we  want  you  to  ask  Mr. 
St.  John  if  he  will  wear  our  surplice  instead 
of  bringing  one  of  his.  We'll  do  it  up  nice 
before  the  wedding." 

"Oh,  that  prophetic  surplice!"  groaned 
Colette.  "It's  yesterday,  to-day  and  forever; 
I  wish  something  would  happen  to  it,  Ama- 
rilly.  I  hate  that  surplice !" 

"I'm  sorry,  Miss  King,  but  we  all  love  it. 
And  you  see  it  means  a  good  deal  to  Lily 
Rose,  because  she  has  looked  at  its  photo- 
graph so  long." 

"Very  well,  Amarilly.  I  yield.  St.  John 
shall  wear  his  surplice  once  more,  and  when 
he  does  - 

A  sudden  thought  illumined  her  face.  "I 
believe  I  will  tell  him  - 

Amarilly  deemed  it  a  fitting  time  to  depart, 
and  she  hastened  to  assure  Lily  Rose  that  it 
was  "all  right." 

"Miss  King  will  speak  to  Mr.  St.  John 

about  marrying  you,  and  she  will  ask  him  to 

wear  our  surplice.     She's  going  to  send  you 

flowers  —  lilies  of  the  valley  and  roses.     It 

[217] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

all  would  be  perfect,  Lily  Rose,  if  only  you 
had  a  white  dress!" 

Lily  Rose  smiled  sweetly,  and  told  Amarilly 
she  was  glad  to  be  married  in  any  dress,  and 
that  she  should  not  miss  the  "reg'ler  weddin* 
fixin's"  nearly  as  much  as  Amarilly  would 
mind  her  not  having  them.  When  Amarilly 
set  her  head  and  heart  on  anything,  however, 
it  was  sure  to  be  accomplished.  It  was  a 
puzzling  problem  to  equip  Lily  Rose  in  the 
conventional  bridal  white  vestments,  for  the 
bride-to-be  was  very  proud  and  independent 
and  wouldn't  hearken  to  Amarilly 's  plea  to 
be  allowed  to  contribute  toward  a  new  dress. 

"We're  under  obligations  to  him,  you 
know,"  argued  Amarilly,  "and  I'd  like  to 
help  him  by  helping  you." 

Lily  Rose  was  strong  of  will  despite  her 
sweet  smile. 

Deep  down  in  her  heart  Amarilly,  through- 
out all  her  scheming,  knew  there  was  a  way, 
but  she  chose  to  ignore  it  until  the  insistent 
small  voice  spoke  louder  and  louder.  With 
a  sigh  of  renunciation  she  yielded  to  the 
inevitable  and  again  sought  Lily  Rose. 

"I've  thought  out  a  way  to  the  white 
dress,"  she  announced. 

[218] 


AMABILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

Lily  Rose's  eyes  sparkled  for  a  moment,  and 
their  light  died  out. 

'Yes,  there's  really  a  way,"  persisted 
Amarilly,  answering  the  unspoken  denial. 
:'You  said  you  could  squeeze  out  slippers 
and  stockings,  didn't  you?" 

"Yes,"  she  admitted. 

"Well,  there's  your  new  white  dress  skirt, 
and  for  a  waist  there  is  my  lovely  lace  waist 
that  I  told  you  about  —  the  one  Miss  King 
gave  me." 

"Your  weddin'  waist!  No,  Amarilly.  It's 
like  you  to  offer,  but  I  couldn't  take  it  from 

you." 

"No,  I'm  not  giving  it  to  you.  Just 
lending  it  to  you  for  your  wedding.  You 
couldn't  hurt  it  any  wearing  it  two  hours. 
Then  I'll  lay  it  by  again  till  I'm  married. 
And  I'll  like  wearing  it  all  the  more  because 
you  wore  it  to  your  wedding.  Come  over 
some  day  and  we'll  try  it  on.  Then  Miss 
King  is  going  to  give  you  the  bouquet,  and 
for  a  veil  - 

"Oh,  the  veil!  Amarilly,  I  would  love  a 
veil!"  Lily  Rose  cried  wistfully. 

"Well,  I've  got  one  spoken  for.  You  see, 
Mrs.  Jimmels  has  been  married  so  many 
[219] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

different  ways,  I  felt  sure  she  must  have  worn 
a  veil  at  one  of  her  weddings,  and  seeing  she 
had  been  married  so  many  times,  I  thought 
she  couldn't  have  any  special  feeling  about 
any  one  of  them,  so  Iwasked  her  if  she  wouldn't 
lend  hers  to  you,  and  she's  glad  to  have  it 
put  to  use  again.  You'll  look  just  perfectly 
swell,  Lily  Rose.  And  she's  going  to  give  you 
a  pair  of  white  gloves  that  she  had  when  she 
was  slim-like." 

The  little  renunciator  went  home  feeling 
amply  rewarded  by  the  look  of  shining  content 
in  the  blue  eyes  of  Lily  Rose. 


The  next  night  Colette  in  accordance  with 
her  promise  to  Amarilly  summoned  John  to 
council.  It  was  not  easy  to  bridge  the  dis- 
tance which  had  been  steadily  increasing  with 
the  months  that  had  rolled  by  since  the 
surplice  denouement,  and  Colette,  formerly 
supreme  in  her  sway,  was  perceptibly  timid 
in  making  the  advance.  After  writing  and 
tearing  up  several  notes  she  called  him  up  by 
telephone  and  asked  him  in  a  consciously 
casual  tone  if  he  could  find  it  convenient  to 
call  that  evening  with  reference  to  a  little 
[220] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

matter  pertaining  to  their  mutual  charge, 
the  Jenkinses. 

The  grave  voice  in  which  he  accepted  the 
invitation  was  tinged  with  pleasure. 

When  he  came  Colette,  fearful  lest  he 
should  misinterpret  her  action  in  making  this 
overture,  plunged  at  once  into  the  subject. 

"I  promised  Amarilly  I  would  see  you  and 
ask  you  for  something  in  her  friends'  behalf." 

"Then  it  is  to  Amarilly  I  am  indebted  for 
this  call,"  he  remarked  whimsically. 

"It's  about  the  Boarder,"  she  continued, 
gaining  ease  at  the  softening  of  his  brown  eyes. 
"You  know  he  is  to  be  married  to  Lily  Rose, 
the  girl  we  saw  at  the  organ  recital  where 
Bud  made  his  debut." 

"I  inferred  as  much  at  the  time.  When 
are  they  to  be  married?" 

"In  June.  Just  as  soon  as  the  Annex  can 
be  added  to  the  Jenkins's  upright.  They 
are  to  build  on  two  new  rooms  or  rather  the 
Boarder  will  do  so  and  he  will  furnish  them 
for  his  new  abiding-place.  But  because  she 
is  *  delicate  like'  and  overworked  she  is  to 
become  a  Boarderess  instead  of  a  house- 
keeper, and  they  will  'eat'  with  the  Jenkins 
family,  thus  increasing  the  prosperity  of 
[221] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

the  latter.  Amarilly  says  the  Boarder  is 
'awful  gentle  of  Lily  Rose  and  wants  to  take 
good  care  of  her." 

The  expression  that  moved  the  frostiest  of 
his  flock  came  into  the  still  depths  of  his  eyes 
and  brought  the  wild  rose  to  Colette's  cheeks. 

"They  are  going  to  make  quite  an  affair  of 
the  wedding,"  she  continued,  speaking  hur- 
riedly and  a  little  breathlessly.  "You  and 
I  and  Mr.  Phillips  are  to  be  guests.  There 
is  to  be  a  hack  to  take  the  bride  and  groom 
to  the  train  and  a  trip  to  Niagara  Falls,  be- 
cause Lily  Rose  has  never  been  on  the  cars. 
They  are  to  have  salad  and  ice-cream  and 
sandwiches  and  coffee.  Mr.  Phillips  is  to 
act  as  florist,  and  I  shall  furnish  the  decora- 
tions and  the  bride's  bouquet.  I'd  love  to 
throw  in  a  bridal  gown  and  veil,  but  Lily 
Rose,  it  seems,  is  proud  and  won't  accept 
them." 

"I  can  find  it  quite  in  my  heart  to  admire 
the  reluctance  of  Lily  Rose  to  accept  them." 

"And  so  can  I,"  replied  Colette,  the  rare 
sweetness  coming  into  her  eyes.  "Under- 
neath all  my  jests  about  this  wedding,  it  is 
all  very  sweet  and  touching  to  me  —  the 
Boarder's  consideration  for  her,  the  prepara- 
[222] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

tions  for  the  wedding  which  appear  so  elab- 
orate to  them.  And  then  the  wedding  itself 
seems  to  mean  so  much  to  them.  It's  so 
different  from  the  weddings  in  our  class  which 
often  mean  so  little." 

"  Colette,  I  know  —  I  have  always  known 
in  spite  of  your  endeavor  to  have  me  believe 
otherwise  —  anything  really  true  and  genu- 
ine appeals  to  you.  I  - 

"But  I  haven't  told  you  yet,"  she  said, 
seized  with  an  unaccountable  shyness,'."  what 
your  part  is  to  be.  The  Boarder,  Lily  Rose, 
and  naturally  all  the  Jenkinses,  want  you  to 
perform  the  ceremony.  The  Boarder,  being 
shy  and  retiring,  forbore  to  ask  you,  and 
Amarilly  for  some  reason  desired  me  to  ask 
you  if  you  would  officiate,  and  I  assured  her 
you  would  gladly  do  so." 

"I  should  have  felt  hurt,"  replied  John 
with  a  happy  smile,  "if  they  had  asked  any- 
one else  to  marry  them.  And  you  will  be 
there,  Colette?" 

"Certainly,"  she  declared.  "I  wouldn't 
miss  it  for  anything." 

"And  —  you  will  go  with  me,  Colette?" 

She  colored,  and  her  eyes  drooped  beneath 
his  fixed  gaze. 

[223  ] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "I  will  go  with  you." 

"Thank  you,  Colette,"  he  answered  gently, 
realizing  what  a  surrender  this  was,  and 
deeming  it  wise  not  to  follow  up  his  victory 
immediately. 

And  at  his  reticence  Colette  was  conscious 
of  a  shade  of  disappointment.  She  began 
to  feel  an  uncomfortable  atmosphere  in  the 
silence  that  ensued,  so  she  broke  it,  speaking 
hastily  and  confusedly. 

"Oh,  John,  there  is  something  else  they 
want  of  you.  The  request  is  made  by  unan- 
imous desire  that  you  wear  their  surplice 
—  that  awful  surplice!" 

A  shadow  not  unlike  a  frown  fell  athwart 
John's  brow,  and  he  made  no  immediate 
reply. 

The  introduction  of  the  unfortunate  topic 
made  them  both  self-conscious,  and  for  the 
first  time  Colette  acknowledged  to  herself 
that  she  had  been  in  the  wrong  in  the  matter 
of  the  surplice.  John,  misinterpreting  her  con- 
straint, and  fearing  that  the  reference  to  the 
garment  had  revived  all  her  old  resentment, 
arose  to  depart. 

"I  will  wear  it  if  they  wish,"  he  said 
stiffly. 

[224] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

"I,  too,  wish  you  would  wear  it,"  she  said 
in  a  voice  scarcely  audible. 

He  looked  at  her  in  surprise,  hope  return- 
ing. 

"To  please  them,"  she  added,  coloring. 

"Colette!"  There  was  a  pleading  in  his 
voice  that  told  her  all  she  longed  to  know. 
"Colette,  don't  you  think  I  have  been  patient? 
Won't  you  be  friends  again?" 

"I  will,"  she  said,  "after  —  the  Boarder's 
and  Lily  Rose's  wedding!" 


[225] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 


CHAPTER  XXII 

WORK  on  the  Boarder's  Annex  was 
begun  with  frantic  zeal,  each  and 
every  member  of  the  Jenkins  family  lending 
a  helping  hand.  The  Boarder,  as  boss  car- 
penter, worked  after  switching  hours  until 
it  grew  dark;  then  the  children  took  turns 
in  holding  a  lantern  for  him.  The  savings 
of  the  Boarder  being  taxed  by  the  trip  to 
"Niagry"  and  the  furnishing  of  the  apart- 
ment, great  economy  had  to  be  exercised  in 
the  erecting  of  the  Annex.  He  strictly  ad- 
hered to  his  determination  not  to  touch  the 
"rainy  day  fund." 

Amarilly  pleaded  for  a  bay  window,  but 
the  Boarder  felt  this  ornamentation  to  be 
quite  beyond  his  means,  so  they  finally  com- 
promised on  a  small  and  simple  porch  on 
which  Lily  Rose  could  sit  of  a  summer  night 
while  the  Boarder  smoked  by  her  side.  Mrs. 
Jenkins,  moved  to  memories  long  dormant 
of  the  home  of  her  youth,  suggested  blinds 
instead  of  window-shades,  but  the  Boarder 
[226] 


AMAKILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

after  much  figuring  proved  adamantine  in 
resistance  to  this  temptation. 

Lily  Rose  was  the  only  one  who  made  no 
suggestions.  Anything  the  Boarder  might 
construct  in  the  way  of  a  nesting  place  was 
beautiful  in  her  eyes. 

"She'd  be  too  sorter  modist-like  to  tell  me 
if  she  was  sot  on  any  perticler  thing  about 
the  new  place,"  he  confided  wistfully  to 
Amarilly.  'You're  so  sharp  I  wish  you'd 
kinder  hint  around  and  find  out  what  she 
wants.  Jest  put  out  some  feelers." 

Amarilly  diplomatically  proceeded  to  put 
out  "feelers,"  and  after  much  maneuvering 
joyously  imparted  to  the  Boarder  the  infor- 
mation that  Lily  Rose  loved  to  look  at  the 
one  solitary  tree  that  adorned  the  Jenkins 
lot,  because  to  her  it  meant  "the  country." 

"So  that's  the  way  she  loves  to  look  out," 
informed  Amarilly,  "and  you  see  there 
isn't  any  window  on  that  side  of  your 
rooms." 

"There  shall  be  one,"  declared  the  Boarder 
firmly. 

"Couldn't  you  make  it  a  bay?"  again 
coaxed  Amarilly.  "It's  on  the  side  the  sun 
comes  in  most,  and  the  doctor  said  Lily  Rose 
[227] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

should  get  all  the  sunlight  she  could.  If 
she  could  sit  in  that  bay  window  sunny  days 
next  winter  it  would  be  better  than  medicine 
for  her." 

The  Boarder  sighed. 

"Don't  tempt  me,  Amarilly.  There  ain't  a 
cent  more  I  kin  squeeze  out." 

"I'll  think  out  a  way,"  thought  Amarilly 
confidently. 

She  took  the  matter  to  Colette,  who 
instantly  and  satisfactorily  solved  the  prob- 
lem, and  Amarilly  returned  radiant. 

"She  says  you've  saved  too  much  out  for 
furniture,  and  to  build  the  bay  window  from 
the  furniture  fund." 

The  Boarder  shook  his  head. 

"I  thought  of  that,  but  thar  ain't  a  thing 
I  can  take  out  of  that.  I  got  the  figgers 
on  the  price  of  everything  from  the  House 
Furnishers'  Establishment." 

"But  you  see,  Miss  King  says  no  one  ever 
comes  to  a  wedding  without  bringing  a 
present.  That  it  wouldn't  be  et — ,  —  dear 
me!  I  have  forgotten  what  the  word  is.  And 
she  says  not  to  buy  any  furniture  till  all  the 
presents  come,  and  then  I  can  settle  the  rooms 
for  you  while  you  and  Lily  Rose  are  away. 
[228] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

Lots  of  the  things  you  are  expecting  to  buy 
will  be  given  you." 

"It's  risky,"  said  the  Boarder  dubiously. 
"We'll  most  likely  git  casters  and  bibles  and 
tidies.  That's  what  I've  allers  seen  to  wed- 
din's." 

"Well,  I  see  I  have  got  to  put  a  flea  in  your 
ear,  but  don't  tell  Lily  Rose.  Let  it  be  a 
surprise  to  her.  Miss  King  is  going  to  give 
you  a  handsome  base-burner  coal  stove.  So 
you  can  take  that  off  your  list." 

The  Boarder  looked  pleased  and  yet  dis- 
tressed. 

"She  shouldn't  go  fer  to  do  that!"  he 
protested. 

"Well,  she  wants  to  give  you  a  nice  present 
because  you've  been  nice  to  us,  and  she 
thinks  Lily  Rose  is  sweet,  and  she  says  she 
believes  in  making  sensible  presents.  She 
asked  Mr.  Meredith  what  to  get,  and  he  told 
her  to  get  the  stove  so  you  see  it's  all  right 
if  he  says  so.  She  thought  you  wouldn't 
need  a  stove  till  next  winter,  but  I  told  her 
you  wanted  the  rooms  furnished  complete 
now." 

"Then,"  said  the  Boarder  beamingly,  "the 
bay  winder  shall  be  cut  out  ter-morrer." 
[229] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

"Don't  cut  it  out!"  said  Amarilly  alarmed. 

"I  don't  mean  in  a  slang  way,"  he  said, 
laughing.  "I  mean  cut  out  with  a  saw."  & 

When  Lily  Rose  was  brought  over  one 
starlight  night  in  budding  May  to  see  the 
beautiful  aperture  that  would  eventually 
become  a  bay  window  and  face  the  solitary 
tree,  two  dewy  drops  of  joy  came  into  her 
eyes.  Before  them  all  she  raised  her  pale, 
little  face  for  a  kiss  which  the  Boarder 
bestowed  with  the  solemn  air  of  one  pro- 
nouncing a  benediction,  for  Lily  Rose  was 
chary  of  outward  and  visible  expressions  of 
affection,  and  he  was  deeply  moved  by  this 
voluntary  offering. 

The  Annex  grew  rapidly,  but  its  uprising 
was  not  accomplished  without  some  hazard 
and  adventure.  There  was  an  exciting  day 
when  Cory  fell  through  the  scaffolding  where 
she  had  been  climbing.  She  suffered  a  mo- 
ment of  unconsciousness  and  a  bump  on  her 
head. 

"An  inch  nigher  her  brain,  and  it  would 
have  killed  her!"  exclaimed  the  mother  in 
tragic  tones. 

"An  inch  of  miss  is  as  good  as  a  mile,"  said 
the  Boarder  philosophically, 
[230] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

There  was  also  a  thrilling  moment  when 
Iry  thrust  his  head  through  the  railings  of 
the  new  porch.  Satisfied  with  his  outlook, 
he  would  fain  have  withdrawn,  but  was 
prevented  by  an  unaccountable  swelling  of 
his  pate.  Flamingus,  coming  to  the  rescue 
and  working  seemingly  on  the  theory  that 
his  skull  might  be  compressible,  tried  to  pull 
him  backward,  but  the  frantic  shrieks  of 
Iry  caused  this  plan  of  ejection  to  be  aban- 
doned. 

"The  rest  of  him  is  smaller  than  his  head," 
observed  Amarilly  practically^,  as  she  arrived 
upon  the  scene  and  took  a  comprehensive 
view  of  the  case.  "Push  him  through,  Flam, 
and  I'll  go  around  on  the  other  side  and 
get  him." 

Iry,  safely  landed  in  Amarilly's  arms, 
laughed  his  delight,  and  thinking  it  a  sort  of 
game,  was  about  to  repeat  his  stunt  of  "in 
and  out." 

"It's  time  something  was  done  to  you," 
said  Amarilly  determinedly,  "before  you  get 
killed  in  this  place.  I  am  going  to  spank 
you,  Iry,  and  Co,  too.  I  am  going  to  spank 
you  both  fierce.  And  you  are  to  keep  away 
from  the  new  part." 

[231] 


AMARILLY  OP  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

In  spite  of  wailing  protests,  Amarilly 
administered  a  spanking  to  the  two  younger 
children  that  worked  effectually  against  fur- 
ther repetition  of  their  hazardous  perform- 
ances. But  Bobby  tobogganed  down  the 
roof  during  its  shingling  and  sprained  his 
ankle,  which  necessitated  the  use  of  crutches. 

"He  can  break  his  neck  if  he  wants  to," 
remarked  Amarilly,  when  besought  by  Co  to 
punish  him  too. 

Mrs.  Jenkins  lost  a  finger-nail  by  an  in- 
judicious use  of  the  hammer.  Bud  sat  down 
in  the  paint  pot,  and  had  to  go  to  bed  while 
his  clothes  were  cleaned.  In  fact  Lily  Rose 
was  the  only  one  of  the  whole  family  circle 
to  suffer  no  injury,  but  the  Boarder  guided 
her  so  tenderly  over  every  part  and  plank  of 
the  Annex  that  there  was  no  chance  for 
mishap. 

When  the  lathing  and  plastering  were 
completed,  the  little  bride-elect  began  to 
tremble  with  timidity  and  happiness  at  the 
consciousness  of  the  nearness  of  her  approach- 
ing transfer  to  the  Home. 

The  plan  of  the  Boarder  had  been  to  leave 
the  walls  rough  and  unfinished  till  their 
settling  process  should  be  accomplished,  but 
[232] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

Amarilly,  absorbed  heart  and  soul  in  this 
first  experience  of  making  a  nesting  place, 
pleaded  for  paper  —  "quiet,  pretty  paper 
with  soft  colors,"  she  implored,  Derry's 
teachings  now  beginning  to  bear  fruit  in 
Amarilly's  development  of  the  artistic. 

"Amarilly,  we  can't  hev  everything  to 
onct,"  he  rebuked  solemnly.  "The  paper'll 
crack  as  sure  as  fate,  if  you  put  it  on  now." 

"Let  it  crack!"  defied  Amarilly.  "Then 
you  can  put  on  more.  You're  away  nearly 
all  day,  and  the  rest  of  us  are  at  work,  but  if 
Lily  Rose  has  to  sit  here  all  day  and  look  at 
these  white  walls  that  look  just  like  sour 
bread  that  hasn't  riz  "  -  Derry  had  not  yet 
discovered  this  word  in  Amarilly's  vocabu- 
lary —  "  she'll  go  mad." 

"Amarilly,"  sighed  the  Boarder,  "you'll 
hev  me  in  the  poorhouse  yit!" 

"Oh,  dear!"  sighed  Amarilly.  "I'll  have 
to  let  you  into  another  secret.  Mr.  Meredith 
is  going  to  give  you  and  Lily  Rose  a  hand- 
some centre-table  and  an  easy-chair.  There 
won't  be  any  surprises  left  for  you  by  the 
time  the  wedding  is  over,  but  you're  so  set,  I 
have  to  keep  giving  things  away  to  you." 

"That  makes  me  think,"  remarked  the 
[233] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

Boarder.  "I  was  going  to  ask  you  what  I'd 
orter  give  the  preacher  fer  marryin'  Lily  Rose 
and  me.  The  fireman  of  Number  Six  told 
me  he  give  two  dollars  when  he  was  spliced, 
but  you  see  Mr.  Meredith  is  so  swell,  I'd 
orter  give  more." 

Amarilly  gazed  reflectively  into  space  while 
she  grappled  with  this  proposition. 

"Do  you  know,"  she  said  presently,  with 
the  rare  insight  that  was  her  birthright,  "I 
don't  think  Mr.  Meredith  would  like  money 
—  not  from  you  —  for  Lily  Rose.  You  see 
he's  a  sort  of  a  friend,  and  you'd  better  give 
him  a  present  because  money,  unless  it  was 
a  whole  lot,  wouldn't  mean  anything  to  him." 

"That's  so,"  admitted  the  Boarder,  "but 
what  kin  I  give  him?" 

Amarilly  had  another  moment  of  thought. 

"Make  him  a  book-rack.  Mr.  Deny  will 
draw  you  the  design,  and  you  can  carve  it 
out.  You  can  do  it  noons  after  you  eat 
your  luncheon,  then  you  won't  lose  any  time 
building  the  house." 

"That's  jest  what  I'll  do.     So  with  the  fee 
saved  and  the  cheer  and  table  out,  I  kin  paper 
the   rooms.     You   find   out   what   kind  Lily 
Rose  wants  and  help  her  pick  it  out." 
[234] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

"She'll  choose  blue,"  lamented  Amarilly, 
"and  that  fades  quick." 

Lily  Rose  was  easily  persuaded  to  let 
Derry  be  consulted.  He  promptly  volun- 
teered to  tint  the  walls,  having  studied 
interior  decorations  at  one  time  in  his  career. 
He  wrought  a  marvellous  effect  in  soft 
grays  and  browns  with  bordering  graceful 
vines. 

Lily  Rose  by  taking  advantage  of  a  bargain 
sale  on  suits  saved  enough  from  her  trousseau 
to  curtain  the  windows  in  dainty  blue  and 
white  muslin. 

Derry  then  diverted  the  appropriation  for 
an  ingrain  carpet  to  an  expenditure  for 
shellac  and  paint  with  which  he  showed 
Amarilly  how  to  do  the  floors.  Some  cheap 
but  pretty  rugs  were  selected  in  place  of  the 
carpet. 

At  last  the  Annex^was  ready  for  painting. 
Lily  Rose  wistfully  stated  that  she  had 
always  longed  to  live  in  a  white  house,  so 
despite  the  fact  that  the  Jenkins  house 
proper  was  a  sombre  red,  the  new  part  was 
painted  white. 

"  'Twill  liven  the  place  up,"  Amarilly  con- 
soled herself,  while  Colette  breathed  a  sigh 
[235] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

of  relief  that  the  Annex  was  not  to  be  entirely 
conventional. 

At  Amarilly's  suggestion,  the  woodwork 
was  also  painted  white. 

"Hard  to  keep  clean,"  warned  Amarilly, 
divided  in  her  trend  of  practicality  and  her 
loyalty  to  St.  John's  favorite  color.  White 
won. 

The  moment  the  paint  was  dry  and  the 
Annex  announced  "done,"  the  Boarder  took 
Lily  Rose  to  view  their  prospective  domicile. 
They  were  unaccompanied  by  any  of  the 
family,  but  it  took  the  combined  efforts 
of  Mrs.  Jenkins,  Amarilly,  and  Flamingus, 
whose  recent  change  in  voice  and  elongation 
of  trousers  gave  him  an  air  of  authority,  to 
prevent  a  stampede  by  the  younger  members. 

Lily  Rose  returned  wet-eyed,  sweetly  smil- 
ing, and  tremulous  of  voice,  but  the  Boarder 
stood  erect,  proud  in  his  possessions. 

Colette  vetoed  the  plan  for  Amarilly  to 
settle  in  the  absence  of  the  groom  and 
bride. 

"If  you  have  it  all  furnished  beforehand," 
she  argued,  "  there  will  be  just  so  much  more 
room  to  entertain  in  on  the  night  of  the 
wedding." 

[  238J 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

And  then  Lily  Rose  confessed  that  "she'd 
love  to  be  'to  hum'  in  her  own  place." 

"But  they  won't  be  furnished,"  argued 
Amarilly. 

"Oh,  yes,  they  will,"  assured'  Colette. 
"It's  etiquette-  '  she  paused  to  note  Ama- 
rilly writing  the  word  down  in  a  little  book 
she  carried  —  "for  people  to  send  their 
presents  before  they  come,  and  you  can  settle 
as  fast  as  they  come  in." 

The  wedding  gifts  all  arrived  the  day 
before  the  wedding.  The  base-burner,  though 
not  needed  for  some  months,  was  set  up, 
because  the  Boarder  said  he  would  not  feel 
at  home  until  he  could  put  his  feet  on  his 
own  hearth.  John  Meredith  sent  an  oaken 
library  table  and  an  easy-chair.  Derry's 
offering  was  in  the  shape  of  a  beautiful  pic- 
ture and  a  vase  for  the  table. 

The  best  man,  who  fortunately  had 
appealed  to  Amarilly  for  guidance,  gave  a 
couch.  The  Jenkins  family,  assessed  in  pro- 
portion to  their  respective  incomes,  provided 
a  bedroom  set.  Lily  Rose's  landlady  sent 
a  willow  rocker;  the  girl  friends  at  the 
factory,  a  gilt  clock;  the  railroad  hands, 
six  silver  spoons  and  an  equal  number  of 
[237] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

forks.  Lily  Rose's  Sunday-school  teacher 
presented  a  lamp.  A  heterogeneous  assort- 
ment of  articles  came  from  the  neighbors. 

These  presents  were  all  arranged  in  the  new 
rooms  by  Lily  Rose,  and  the  elegance  of  the 
new  apartment  was  overwhelming  in  effect 
to  the  household. 

"It  looks  most  too  fine  to  feel  to  hum  in," 
gasped  the  Boarder.  "It  makes  me  feel 
strange!'* 

"It  won't  look  strange  to  you,"  assured 
the  bride-elect,  looking  shyly  into  his  adoring 
eyes,  "when  you  come  home  and  find  me 
sitting  here  in  my  blue  dress  waiting  for  you, 
will  it?"v 

"No!"  agreed  the  Boarder  with  a  quick 
intake  of  breath.  "Twill  be  home  and 
heaven,  Lily  Rose." 


[  238  ] 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

OHYLY  and  perversely  Lily  Rose  had 
O  postponed  the  trying  on  of  her  borrowed 
wedding  waist  until  the  day  preceding  the 
great  event. 

"There  won't  be  time  to  fit  it,"  pleaded 
Amarilly. 

And  Lily  Rose  had  smiled  a  faraway  smile 
and  said  her  veil  would  cover  it  anyway. 
But  finally  Amarilly 's  pleas  prevailed  and  the 
beloved  garment  was  brought  forth. 

Amarilly  took  it  reverently  from  its  wrap- 
pings and  held  it  up  to  view.  After  many 
exclamations  of  wonder  and  admiration,  Lily 
Rose,  who  had  removed  her  dress,  essayed 
to  try  it  on. 

"  Why,  Amarilly,"  she  said,  struggling  to 
get  her  arm  into  the  sleeve,  "there's  something 
the  matter!  It's  sewed  together,  or  some- 
thing." 

Amarilly  hastened  to  investigate. 

"Oh!"  she  gasped,  after  thrusting  her 
hand  within,  "to  think  it  should  be  in  here, 
[239] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

for  I  am  sure  this  is  what  Miss  King  has  been 
looking  for  so  long.  Wait  until  I  go  and  ask 
ma  about  it." 

She  hurried  to  the  kitchen  precinct  of  the 
house. 

"Oh,  Ma,  do  you  know  how  this  came  in 
Miss  King's  lace  waist?  The  one  that  was 
here  through  the  fever?" 

"Why,  didn't  you  ever  take  that  home?" 

"Yes,"  informed  Amarilly,  "but  she  made 
me  a  present  of  it,  and  I  put  it  away  to  keep 
till  I  was  —  grown  up.  And  I  want  to  lend  it 
to  Lily  Rose  to  be  married  in.  And  when 
she  went  to  try  it  on,  she  found  this  in  the 
sleeve." 

Mrs.  Jenkins  paused  in  the  sudsing  of  a 
garment. 

"Let  me  see!"  she  said,  surveying  the 
object  with  reminiscent  scrutiny.  "Oh,  yes, 
I  remember  now.  I  found  it  on  the  floor 
the  day  she  was  here,  afore  the  waist  was 
ready  for  her.  I  thought  she  had  dropped  it, 
and  so  I  pinned  it  in  the  sleeve  of  her  dress, 
and  was  goin  to  tell  Gus  to  give  it  to  her, 
but  he  didn't  take  the  waist  hum,  and  then 
so  much  happened,  it  went  clean  out  of  my 
mind." 

[240] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

"I'll  go  right  over  to  her  house  with  it 
now,"  said  Amarilly. 

Lily  Rose,  adorned  in  the  filmy,  white 
waist,  entered  the  kitchen. 

"See,  Amarilly,"  she  said  delightedly. 
"It's  a  beautiful  fit!" 

But  Amarilly  had  something  on  her  mind 
of  more  moment  even  than  Lily  Rose's  wed- 
ding garments. 

"I  am  glad  it  fits,"  she  said  hurriedly, 
scarcely  vouchsafing  a  glance  toward  Lily 
Rose  as  she  caught  up  her  hat,  and  hastened 
as  fast  as  the  street-cars  would  take  her  to 
Colette.  Orders  had  been  given  for  the  ad- 
mittance of  Amarilly  at  any  hour  and  to  any 
room  her  young  patroness  might  chance  to 
be  occupying.  This  morning  she  was  in  her 
boudoir. 

"Oh,  Miss  King!"  cried  Amarilly,  her  face 
aglow.  "I  guess  I  have  found  it!" 

Colette's  heart  began  to  flutter  and  the 
wavering  beat  became  a  steady  throb  when 
Amarilly  handed  her  the  long  lost  article. 

"Oh,  Amarilly,  you  darling!  Yes,  yes, 
this  is  it!  And  it  evidently  has  not  been 
touched.  Where  did  you  find  it?  Who  had 
it?" 

[241  ] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

Amarilly  related  the  story  of  its  discovery. 

"Then,  but  for  your  generosity,  Amarilly, 
this  would  have  been  in  the  waist  for  years, 
so  I  am  going  to  reward  you.  You  shall 
make  Lily  Rose  a  wedding  present  of  the 
waist,  and  when  you  are  married,  I  shall 
give  you  a  real,  white  wedding  gown  of  white 
satin  with  a  bridal  train!" 

"Oh,  Miss  King!  I  must  get  married  then, 
even  if  I  have  to  do  it  in  a  leap  year!" 

"Of  course  you  will  marry.  I  shall  pick 
out  the  bridegroom  myself.  I  feel  like  doing 
almost  anything  for  you,  Amarilly." 

"Do  you,  truly?"  asked  Amarilly.  "Then 
I  wish  you  would  - 

"Tell  me,  dear!"  urged  Colette.  "I'll  do 
anything  for  you  to-day." 

"Be  nice  to  Mr.  St.  John!"  whispered  the 
little  peacemaker. 

"  Amarilly !  I  will,  indeed  —  nicer  than  you 
can  imagine,  or  he  either.  And  tell  me,  is 
Lily  Rose  still  happy --very  happy?" 

'Yes,"  replied  Amarilly.  "So  happy,  and 
so  scared-like,  and  she's  going  to  dress  at 
our  house  and  could  you  come  early  and  fix 
on  the  veil?  We  don't  just  know  how  it 
goes." 

[242] 


"Be  nice  to  Mr.  St.  John!"  whispered  the  little 
peacemaker.    Page  242. 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE' ALLEY 

"Of  course  I  will.  And  now  will  you  take 
a  little  note  to  St.  John  for  me  on  your  way 
home?" 

'Yes,  Miss  King.  And  are  you  going  to 
tell  him  it  is  found?" 

"No,  Amarilly;  not  until  to-morrow  night, 
so  don't  say  anything  about  it  to  him." 

The  rector  looked  up  with  a  welcoming 
smile  when  Amarilly  was  shown  into  his 
study. 

"I  came  with  a  note  from  her,"  she  said 
with  a  glad  little  intonation  in  her  voice. 

John  took  it  eagerly.  His  face  fell  at  the 
first  few  words  which  told  him  not  to  call 
for  her  to-morrow  night  on  the  way  to  the 
wedding,  but  it  brightened  amazingly  when 
he  read  the  reason — the  adjusting  of  Lily 
Rose's  bridal  veil;  it  fairly  radiated  joy 
when  he  read: 

"I  am  not  going  to  be  disagreeable  to  — 
anyone  to-morrow.  I  shall  'let  my  light 
shine  'on  Lily  Rose  and  —  every  one.  If  you 
will  keep  your  carriage  to-morrow  night,  I  will 
send  mine  away  and  ride  home  with  you." 


[243] 


AMARELLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

ON  the  night  of  the  auspicious  occasion, 
Mrs.  Jenkins's  home  presented  a  scene 
of  festivity.  Neighbors  had  loaned  their 
lamps,  and  the  brakeman  had  hung  out  his 
red  lantern  in  token  of  welcome  and  cheer. 
It  was,  however,  mistaken  by  some  of  the 
guests  as  a  signal  of  danger,  and  they  were 
wary  of  their  steps  lest  they  be  ditched.  Mrs. 
Hudgers  ventured  the  awful  prognostication 
that  "mebby  some  of  them  Jenkins  brats  had 
gone  and  got  another  of  them  ketchin* 
diseases." 

When  they  entered  the  house  there  was  a 
general  exclamation  of  admiration.  The 
curtain  partitions  had  been  removed,  and  the 
big  room  was  beautifully  decorated  with 
festoons  and  masses  of  green  interspersed 
with  huge  bunches  of  June  roses. 

Deny  and  Flamingus  received  the  guests. 
Upstairs  the  Boarder  and  the  brakeman  were 
nervously  awaiting  the  crucial  moment.  The 
door  into  the  Annex  was  closed,  for  in  the 
sitting-room  was  the  little  bride,  her  pale 
[244] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

cheeks  delicately  tinted  from  excitement  as 
Colette  artistically  adjusted  the  bridal  veil, 
fastening  it  with  real  orange  blossoms.  Ama- 
rilly  hovered  near  in  an  ecstasy  which  was 
perforce  silent  on  account  of  her  mouth  being 
full  of  pins. 

"There's  Mr.  St.  John's  carriage,"  she 
managed  to  murmur  as  she  peered  from  the 
window. 

Colette  dropped  her  paper  of  pins,  went 
hastily  into  the  adjoining  bedroom  and 
slipped  out  again  before  John  Meredith  was 
ushered  in  where  the  surplice  immaculately 
laundered,  was  waiting  to  be  donned  by  its 
original  owner. 

After  slipping  it  on,  John's  hand  from 
force  of  habit  sought  the  pocket  and  there 
encountered  something.  He  drew  it  forth 
wonderingly.  It  was  a  small  silver-mono- 
grammed  envelope  sealed  and  addressed  to 
him  in  Colette's  handwriting.  He  read  the 
note  once,  twice,  thrice.  Then  there  was  a 
knock  at  the  door  that  led  into  the  Annex 
sitting-room.  He  opened  it  to  admit 
Amarilly. 

"Are  you  ready?"  she  asked.     :t You're  to 
go  in  with  them.     They  — 
[245] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

She  paused  and  stared  at  him.  The  trans- 
formation in  his  face  was  wonderful. 

"Yes,  I  am  ready,  Amarilly,"  he  replied, 
and  something  in  his  voice  sounded  strange 
to  her. 

He  followed  her  into  the  next  room  where 
the  Boarder,  awkward  in  his  Sunday  clothes, 
but  regal  in  his  pride  in  the  little,  white- 
veiled  figureat  his  side,  was  awaiting  him. 

John  walked  out  into  the  Jenkins's  part  of 
the  house  with  them,  while  Amarilly  slipped 
home  by  way  of  the  Annex  bedroom. 

The  entrance  was  certainly  effective  to  the 
neighbors. 

"Ain't  she  a  lily  though!"  "Look  at  that 
long  veil  onct!"  "Jest  like  a  picter!" 
"What  a  swell  waist!"  "That  big  bo'quet!" 
"I  niver  seed  sech  flowers  afore."  "That 
surplus  makes  it  look  like  picters!" 

All  these  comments  were  sweet  music  in 
Amarilly 's  ear.  Only  one  person  had  regrets. 
Mrs.  Hudgers  was  visibly  disappointed. 

"I  thought  they'd  hev  candles  a-burninY' 
she  confided  to  Mrs.  Huce. 

"Don't  you  know  no  better  than  that?" 
scoffed  Mrs.  Huce  with  a  superior  air.    "Them 
things  is  only  used  by  Irish  folks." 
.[  246  ] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

Derry's  dancing  eyes  looked  to  Colette  for 
appreciation  of  this  statement,  but  her  eyes 
and  attention  were  entirely  for  John. 

The  ceremony  began.  John's  impressive 
voice,  with  its  new  pervading  note  of  exultant 
gladness,  reached  them  all,  tempering  even 
Derry's  light-hearted  mirth.  It  gave  courage 
to  the  little  bride  whose  drooping  head  rose 
like  a  flower,  and  a  light  shone  in  her  eyes  as 
she  made  the  responses  sweetly  and  clearly. 
It  found  echo  in  the  Boarder,  whose  stooping 
shoulders  unconsciously  straightened  and  his 
voice  grew  clear  and  strong  as  he  promised 
to  have  and  to  hold.  It  found  a  place  in 
Colette's  heart  which  sent  illumining  lights 
into  her  starry  eyes. 

When  the  solemn  ceremony  ended,  and 
the  Boarder  and  Lilly  Rose  were  pronounced 
man  and  wife,  the  guests  flocked  forward  to 
offer  congratulations.  Then  they  were  bidden 
to  adjourn  to  the  Annex  that  they  might 
view  the  bride's  domain,  while  Mrs.  Jenkins 
assisted  by  many  helping  hands  set  the  long 
tables,  a  small  one  being  reserved  for  the 
Boarder,  the  bride,  Mr.  Cotter,  and  Mrs. 
Jenkins  and  Iry. 

"I  thought  they  could  eat  more  natural," 
[247] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

whispered  the  considerate  little  Amarilly  to 
Colette,  "if  there  weren't  no  strangers  with 
them." 

Colette,  John,  and  Deny  were  also  honored 
with  a  separate  table.  Mrs.  Hudgers  and 
Amarilly  "dished  up  and  poured"  in  the 
woodshed,  while  the  boys  acted  as  waiters, 
having  been  thoroughly  trained  by  Amarilly 
for  the  occasion. 

"Do  you  know,"  laughed  Deny,  "I  was 
so  surprised  and  relieved  to  find  that  the 
Boarder  had  a  cognomen  like  other  people.  It 
never  occurred  to  me  before  that  he  must  of 
course  have  a  name." 

Colette  smiled  politely  but  perfunctorily. 
She  was  living  too  deeply  to-night  to  appre- 
ciate wit.  John,  too,  was  strangely  silent, 
his  eyes  resting  often  and  adoringly  upon 
Colette.  Shrewdly  Derry  divined  the  situa- 
tion and  relieved  it  by  rattling  on  with  a 
surface  banter  that  demanded  no  response. 

"These  refreshments,"  he  observed,  "are 
certainly  the  handiwork  of  my  little  maid. 
They  have  a  flavor  all  her  own.  I  am 
proud  of  Amarilly's  English,  too." 

"I  wonder,"  said  Colette,  "if  you  are  doing 
quite  right,  Mr.  Phillips,  in  improving 
[248] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

Amarilly  to  such  an  extent?  I  am  afraid 
she  will  grow  beyond  her  family." 

"No;  even  you,  pardon  me,  Miss  King, 
don't  know  Amarilly  as  I  do.  She  couldn't 
get  beyond  them  in  her  heart,  although  she 
may  in  other  directions.  Her  heart  is  in  the 
right  place,  and  it  will  bridge  any  distance 
that  may  lie  between  them." 

John  looked  up  attentively  and  approv- 
ingly- j 

"Amarilly    has    too    much    aptitude    for 

learning  not  to  be  encouraged,  and  I  shall 
do  more  for  her  before  long.  We  have  pur- 
sued a  select  course  of  reading  this  winter. 
She  has  read  aloud  while  I  painted.  We 
began  stumblingly  with  Alice  in  Wonderland 
and  are  now  groping  through  mythology." 

After  refreshments  had  been  served,  Lily 
Rose  went  to  her  bedroom  to  don  her  travel- 
ling gown,  and  when  the  happy  couple  had 
driven  away  amid  a  shower  of  rice  and  shouts 
from  the  neighbors,  John's  carriage  drew 
up. 

"John,"  asked  Colette,  after  a  happy  little 
moment  in  his  arms,  "did  you  read  my  note 
and  did  you  see  what  the  date  was?" 

"Colette,  surely  it  was  the  dearest  love- 
[249  ] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

letter  a  man  ever  received  If  I  could  have 
had  it  all  these  dreary  months!" 

"Do  you  wonder  that  I  feared  its  falling 
into  strange  hands?" 

"Tell  me  its  history,  Colette.  How  you 
recovered  it,  and  why  you  thought  it  was  in 
the  surplice  in  the  first  place?" 

"I  wrote  it  the  day  after  you  asked  me  — 
you  know  - 

There  was  another  happy  disappearance  and 
silence  before  she  resumed: 

"I  was  sentimental  enough  to  want  to 
deliver  it  in  an  unusual  way.  I  took  it  to 
Mrs.  Jenkins's  house  the  day  your  surplice 
was  to  be  returned  to  you,  and  I  slipped  it 
inside  the  pocket.  I  wanted  you  to  find  it 
there  on  Sunday  morning.  I  didn't  know 
what  to  think  when  you  looked  at  me  so 
oddly  that  Sunday  —  yes,  I  know  now  that 
you  were  wondering  at  my  silence.  And 
when  we  came  home  in  the  fall  and  I  learned 
from  Amarilly  that  strangers  might  be  reading 
and  laughing  at  my  ardent  love-letter,  which 
must  have  passed  through  many  and  alien 
hands,  I  was  so  horrified  I  couldn't  act  ra- 
tional or  natural.  I  was  —  yes,  I  will  'fess 
up,  John,  —  I  was  unreasonable,  as  you 
[250] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

said  and  —  No,  John!  wait  until  I  finish 
before  you  - 

'You  want  to  know  how  and  where  it  was 
found?  It  seems  at  the  same  time  your 
surplice  was  laundered,  a  lace  waist  of  mine 
was  at  their  house.  I  didn't  care  for  a  'fumi- 
gated waist'  so,  like  you,  I  made  Amarilly 
a  present  perforce.  She  laid  it  away  in  its 
wrappings  to  keep  until  her  wedding  day. 
Out  of  the  goodness  of  her  generous  little 
heart  she  loaned  it  to  Lily  Rose  and  yesterday, 
when  they  were  trying  it  on,  Amarilly  found 
my  note  in  the  sleeve.  Mrs.  Jenkins  was  ap- 
pealed to  and  remembered  that  when  the 
things  were  ready  to  be  sent  home,  she  found 
the  note  on  the  floor,  and  supposing  it  had 
fallen  from  the  waist  slipped  it  inside  and 
forgot  all  about  it.  I  decided  that  it  should 
be  delivered  in  the  manner  originally 
planned." 

"But,  Colette,"  he  asked  wistfully,  a  few 
moments  later,  "if  you  had  never  found  it 
would  you  have  kept  me  always  in  suspense 
and  never  have  given  me  an  answer?  I 
began  to  hope,  that  night  I  called,  that  you 
were  relenting." 

"I  was,  John.  Amarilly  had  been  telling 
[251] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

me  of  the  Boarder's  love  for  Lily  Rose,  and  it 
made  me  lonely  for  you,  and  I  determined  in 
any  event  to  give  you  your  answer  —  this 
answer  —  to-night.  And  so  Kdid,  and  —  I 
think  that  is  all,  John." 
"Not  all,  Colette." 


[252] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE  dairy  business  continued  to  prove 
profitable  to  Gus,  the  cow  remaining 
contented,  loving  and  giving.  One  night, 
however,  there  came  the  inevitable  reaction, 
and  the  gentle  creature  in  the  cow-shed  felt 
the  same  stifling  she  had  rebelled  against  on 
the  night  of  the  stampede  when  she  had  made 
her  wild  dash  for  liberty.  Moved  by  these 
recollections,  the  sedate,  orderly  cow  became 
imbued  with  a  feeling  of  unrest,  and  demol- 
ishing the  frail  door  was  once  more  at  large. 
In  a  frenzy  of  freedom  she  dashed  about  the 
yard.  Her  progress  was  somewhat  impeded 
by  contact  with  the  surplice  which,  pinned 
to  the  clothes-line,  was  flapping  in  the  breezes. 
Maddened  by  this  obstruction  which  hung, 
veil-like,  over  her  bovine  lineaments,  she  gave 
a  twist  of  her  Texas  horns,  a  tug,  and  the 
surplice  was  released,  but  from  the  line  only; 
it  twined  itself  like  a  white  wraith  about  the 
horns. 

Then  the  sportive  animal  frisked  over  the 
[253] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

low  back  fence  and  across  the  hill,  occa- 
sionally stepping  on  a  released  end  of  the 
surplice  and  angrily  tearing  her  way  through 
the  garment.  She  made  her  road  to  the 
railroad  track.  That  sight,  awakening  bitter 
memories  of  a  packed  cattle-car,  caused  her 
to  slacken  her  Mazeppa-like  speed.  While 
she  paused,  the  night  express  backed  onto 
the  side  track  to  await  the  coming  of  the 
eastbound  train.  The  cow,  still  in  medita- 
tion, was  silhouetted  in  the  light  of  a  harvest 
moon. 

'This  'ere,"  a  home-bound  cattleman  was 
saying  to  a  friend  on  the  platform,  "is  nigh 
onto  whar  we  dropped  a  cow.  I  swar  if 
thar  ain't  that  blasted  cow  now,  what? 
Know  her  from  hoof  to  horn,  though  what 
kind  of  a  Christmas  tree  she's  got  on  fer  a 
bunnit,  gits  me!  Ki,  yi!  Ki,  yi!" 

At  the  sound  of  the  shrill,  weird  cry,  the 
animal  stood  at  bay.  Again  came  the  well- 
known  strident  halloo.  A  maelstrom  of  mem- 
ories was  awakened  by  the  call.  Instinctively 
obeying  the  old  summons  she  started  toward 
the  train,  when  from  over  the  hill  behind  her 
she  heard  another  command/ 

"Co,  boss!     Co,  boss!" 
[254] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

The  childish  anxious  treble  rose  in  an 
imploring  wail. 

The  cow  paused  irresolute,  hesitating  be- 
tween the  lure  of  the  old  life  on  the  plains 
and  the  recent  domestic  existence. 

"Co,  boss!" 

There  was  a  note  of  entreaty,  of  affection, 
in  the  cry. 

After  all,  domesticity  was  her  birthright. 
With  an  answering  low  of  encouragement 
the  black  cow  turned  and  trotted  amiably 
back  to  meet  the  little  dairyman. 

"Well,  I'll  be  jiggered,"  said  the  cattle- 
man, as  the  train  pulled  out.  "I'd  a  swore 
it  was  old  Jetblack.  Maybe  'twas.  She  was 
only  a  milker  anyway,  and  I  guess  she's 
found  a  home  somewhere." 

Gus  with  arm  lovingly  about  the  cow's 
neck  walked  home. 

"Bossy,"  he  said  in  gently  reproaching 
tones,  "how  could  you  give  me  such  a  skeer? 
I  thought  I'd  lost  you,  and  I'd  hev  sure 
missed  you  —  you,  yerself  -  -  more'n  I  would 
the  money  your  milk  brings  us." 

Then  for  the  first  time,  the  lad's  eyes  noted 
the  decorated  horns. 

"What  in  thunder - 

[255] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

He  began  to  unwind  the  ribbons  of  white 
cloth,  the  stringed  remnants  of  the  surplice. 

"Gracious  Peter!  It's  the  surplus!  What 
will  Amarilly  say --and  Lily  Rose?  It's 
only  fit  fer  carpet  rags  now.  Well,  if  this 
ain't  the  end  of  the  surplus  after  all  it  has 
went  through!  I  wonder  what  bossy  wanted 
of  it?  Thought  jest  cause  she  was  a  cow, 
she  must  be  a  cow  ketcher,  I  suppose." 

Great  was  the  joy  of  the  Jenkinses  at  the 
restoration  of  the  cow,  but  there  was  grievous 
lament  from  Amarilly  for  the  fate  of  the 
precious  garment. 

"It  was  our  friend — our  friend  in  need!" 
she  mourned. 

"I'm  so  glad  we  hev  a  picter  of  it,"  said 
Lily  Rose,  gazing  fondly  at  the  photograph 
of  the  Boarder  in  the  saintly  robes.  ] 

"I'll  go  and  tell  Miss  King,"  said  Amarilly 
the  next  morning.  "She  said  she  felt  that 
the  surplice  would  come  to  some  tragic 
end." 

"It  was  a  fitting  fate  for  so  mysterious 
a  garment,"  commented  Colette.  "You 
couldn't  expect  any  ordinary,  common-place 
ending  for  the  surplice.  After  officiating 
at  funerals,  weddings,  shop-windows,  theatres, 

[256] 


pawnshops,  and  bishops'  dwellings,  it  could 
never  have  simply  worn  out,  or  died  of  old 
age." 

"I  don't  see,"  meditated  Amarilly,  "what 
possessed  the  cow.  She's  been  so  gentle 
always,  and  then  to  fly  to  pieces  that  way, 
and  riddle  the  surplice  to  bits!  It  was  lucky 
there  was  nothing  else  on  the  line." 

"It's  very  simple,"  said  Colette.  "I  sup- 
pose she  wanted  to  go  to  the  train.  Maybe 
she  expected  to  meet  a  friend.  And  as  nearly 
everyone  else  had  worn  the  surplice  on  special 
occasions,  she  thought  she  could  do  the  same; 
only,  you  see,  never  having  been  to  church 
she  didn't  quite  know  how  to  put  it  on,  and 
I  suppose  got  mad  at  it  because  it  didn't  fit 
her  and  gave  vent  to  her  anger  by  trampling 
on  it." 

Amarilly's  doleful  little  face  showed  no 
appreciation  of  this  conceit. 

"Don't  look  so  glum,  Amarilly.  I  have 
something  to  show  you  that  will  please 
you." 

She  opened  a  desk  and  took  a  thick,  white 
square  envelope  from  it,  and  handed  it  to 
the  little  girl. 

Wonderingly  Amarilly  opened  it  and  took 
[257] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

out  a  folded,  engraved  sheet  of  thick  paper. 
She  read  eagerly,  and  two  little  spots  of  pink 
came  into  her  cheeks. 

"Oh,  oh!"  she  cried,  looking  up  with  shin- 
ing eyes,  which  in  another  moment  glistened 
through  tears. 

"Why,  Amarilly,  aren't  you  glad  that  I 
am  going  to  be  - 

"Mrs.  St.  John?"  smiled  Amarilly.  "I 
think  it's  beautiful.  And,"  anxiously,  "you 
will  surely  be  good  to  —  him?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Colette  softly.  "I  will  be 
good  -  -  very  good  -  -  to  St.  John.  Don't  fear, 
Amarilly." 

A  card  had  fallen  from  the  envelope.  Ama- 
rilly picked  it  up  and  read: 

'To  be  presented  at  the  church." 

"What's  that?"  she  asked  curiously. 

;<You  have  to  show  that  at  the  church 
door.  If  you  didn't  have  it,  you  couldn't 
get  in  to  see  us  married.  It's  the  same  as  a 
ticket  to  a  theatre.  And  St.  John  doesn't 
like  it;  but  if  we  didn't  have  them  there 
would  be  a  mob  of  curious  people  who  don't 
know  us.  I  shall  give  all  of  you  tickets  to 
come  to  the  church,  the  Boarder  and  Lily 
Rose,  too." 

[258] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

"Oh,"  cried  Amarilly,  "that  will  be  lovely, 
and  we  shall  all  come." 

"Of  course  you  will  all  come.  Your  friend, 
the  bishop,  is  to  marry  us,  and  Bud  is  going 
to  sing  a  solo.  The  choirmaster  told  me  his 
voice  was  developing  wonderfully." 

"I  must  go  home  and  tell  them  all  about 
it,"  said  Amarilly  excitedly. 

"Wait!  There's  more  to  hear.  I  am  going 
to  invite  you  to  the  reception  here  at  the 
house,  and  I  am  going  to  have  a  lovely  white 
dress  made  for  you  to  wear,  and  you  shall 
have  white  silk  stockings  and  slippers  and 
white  gloves." 

"Oh!"  gasped  Amarilly,  shutting  her  eyes. 
"I  can't  believe  it." 

The  next  morning  at  the  studio  she  an- 
nounced the  wonderful  news  to  Deny. 

"I  just  received  an  invitation,  myself," 
he  replied.  "We  will  go  together,  Amarilly. 
I'll  send  you  flowers  and  call  for  you  with  a 
taxicab." 

"Things  must  stop  happening  to  me,"  said 
Amarilly  solemnly.  "I  can't  stand  much 
more." 

Deny  laughed. 

"When  things  once  begin  to  happen,  Ama- 
[259] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

rilly,  they  never  stop.  You  are  to  go  from 
here  now  every  day  after  luncheon  to  this 
address,"  handing  her  a  card. 

"'Miss  Varley,'"  Amarilly  read.  "'1227 
Winter  Street.'  Will  she  have  work  for  me, 
too?" 

'Yes;  work  in  schoolbooks.  She  takes  a 
few  private  pupils,  and  I  have  engaged  her  to 
teach  you.  I  really  think  you  should  have 
instruction  in  other  branches  than  English 
and  art  and  arithmetic." 

Amarilly  turned  pale  but  said  nothing  for 
a  moment.  Then  she  held  out  her  hand. 

"I  will  study  hard  —  to  pay  you,"  she  said 
simply. 

"And  can  you  stand  another  piece  of  excit- 
ing news,  Amarilly?  Sunset,  which  I  have 
dawdled  over  for  so  long,  drew  first  prize." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Deny,  that  is  best  of  all!" 

"And  do  you  know  what  I  am  going  to 
give  Mrs.  St.  John  for  a  wedding  present  from 
you  and  me?  The  picture  of  The  Little 
Scrub-girl." 


[260] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

A  NOTHER  spring  found  the  members  of 
-^  ^-  the  Jenkins  Syndicate  still  banking  reg- 
ularly and  flourishing  in  their  various  walks 
in  life.  The  Boarder  had  received  a  "raise"; 
Lily  Rose  was  spending  her  leisure  time  in 
fashioning  tiny  garments  which  she  told 
Cory  were  for  a  doll  baby;  Try  was  wearing 
his  first  trousers  cut  over  from  a  pair  dis- 
carded by  Bud;  and  Amarilly  was  acquiring 
book  lore  with  an  ease  and  rapidity  which 
delighted  Miss  Varley  and  Deny.  Through 
the  medium  of  Mr.  Vedder  the  attention  of 
the  manager  of  a  high  class  vaudeville  had 
been  drawn  to  Bud,  and  he  was  now  singing 
every  night  with  a  salary  that  made  the 
neighbors  declare  that  "them  Jenkinses  was 
getting  to  be  reg'ler  Rocky  fellers." 

Amarilly  coming  home  one  Monday  even- 
ing found  the  family  grouped  about  the  long 
table  listening  with  bulging  eyes  and  hectic 
cheeks  to  the  Boarder,  who  had  before  him  a 
sheet  of  figures.  Amarilly  was  at  once  alert, 

[261] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

although    somewhat    resentful    of    this    en- 
croachment upon  her  particular  province. 

"Oh,  come  and  hear,  Amarilly!"  "Ama- 
rilly,  we've  bought  a  farm!"  "Amarilly, 
we  air  agoin'  to  live  in  the  country!" 

"Let  me  explain,"  said  the  Boarder,  usu- 
ally slow  and  easy  going,  but  now  alert  and 
enthusiastic  of  mien  and  speech.  "We've 
got  a  chance,  Amarilly,  to  sell  this  place  and 
make  quite  a  profit.  That  new  factory  that's 
agoin'  up  acrost  the  alley  has  sent  real  estate 
scootin'.  With  what  we  git  fer  it,  we  kin 
make  a  big  payment  on  a  farm.  I  took  a  run 
down  yesterday  to  look  at  one  we  kin  git 
cheap,  cause  the  folks  on  it  hez  gotter  go 
west  fer  the  man's  health.  What  we  hev 
all  saved  up  sence  we  bought  the  place  will 
keep  us  agoin'  till  we  git  in  our  fust  summer 
crops." 

;<Tell  her  about  the  house,"  prompted 
Mrs.  Jenkins,  her  quick,  maternal  eye  noting 
the  bewilderment  and  disapproval  hi  her 
daughter's  expressive  eyes. 

"It's  all  green  meaders  and  orcherds  and 
lanes,"  said  the  Boarder  with  the  volubility 
of  one  repeating  an  oft-told  and  well-loved 
tale,  while  the  young  Jenkinses  with  the  rapt, 

[262] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

intense  gaze  of  moving  picture  beholders 
sat  in  pleased  expectancy,  "and  the  house 
sets  on  a  little  rise  of  ground.  It's  a  white 
house  with  a  big  chimbley  and  two  stoops, 
and  thar's  a  big  barn  with  two  white  bosses 
in  it,  and  a  cow  and  an  animal  in  the  paster 
lot.  A  big  pen  of  pigs,  fifty  hens  in  the  hen- 
house, and  a  few  sheep.  Thar's  a  piece  of 
woods  and  the  river." 

"I'm  a  little  fearful  of  the  river  on  Iry's 
account,"  said  Mrs.  Jenkins,  "but  we  kin 
spank  him  up  good  as  soon  as  we  git  thar, 
and  then  he'll  understand  he's  to  keep  away." 

"We  kin  git  a  good  dog  to  keep  track  of 
Iry  and  the  cattle,"  said  the  Boarder,  and 
then  he  paused  expectantly  to  listen  to  Ama- 
rilly's  approbation.  But  she  was  strangely 
silent. 

"It  will  be  a  fust  class  investment,"  he 
continued  sagely. 

"Why  will  it?  We  don't  know  anything 
about  farming,"  objected  Amarilly.  "We'll 
have  to  hire  someone  to  run  it." 

"I  was  brought  up  on  a  farm,"  replied  the 
Boarder.  "Thar  ain't  a  thing  I  don't  know 
about  farm  work." 

"I  was  raised  on  a  farm,  too,"  said  Mrs. 
[263] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

Jenkins.  "I  can  make  good  butter  and  I 
know  all  about  raisin*  chickens.  I'll  get 
some  young  turkeys  and  have  them  ready  to 
sell  for  Thanksgiving,  and  I'll  set  out  straw- 
berries and  celery  plants." 

"I  kin  lam,  and  I'll  work  hard  and  do  just 
what  he  tells  me  to,"  said  Flamingus,  mo- 
tioning toward  the  Boarder. 

"I  kin  have  my  dairy  all  right,  all  right," 
said  Gus  joyfully.  "I'll  have  a  hull  herd  of 
cattle  soon." 

"I  shall  go  in  heavy  on  hens,"  said  Milt 
importantly.  'The  grocer  give  me  a  book 
about  raising  them.  There's  money  in 
hens." 

"I  choose  to  take  keer  of  the  sheep," 
cried  Bobby. 

"I'll  help  ma  do  the  work  in  the  house  and 
the  garden,"  volunteered  Cory. 

"And  I'm  strong  enough  to  work  outdoors 
now,"  said  Lily  Rose.  "I  shall  help  with  the 
garden  and  with  the  housework." 

"We'll  all  pitch  in  and  work,"  said 
Flamingus  authoritatively,  "and  we're  all 
partners  and  we  won't  hire  no  help.  It  will 
be  clear  profit." 

"Ain't  it  lovely,  Amarilly?"  asked  the 
[264] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

mother,  apprehensive  lest  the  little  leader 
might  blackball  the  project. 

''We're  all  doing  so  well  here,  why  change? 
Why  not  let  well  enough  alone?"  she  asked. 

There  was  a  general  and  surprised  protest 
at  this  statement.  It  was  something  new 
for  Amarilly  to  be  a  kill-joy. 

"Do  you  like  to  live  in  this  alley  when  we 
kin  hev  all  outdoors  and  git  a  chanst  to  be 
somebody?"  demanded  Flamingus,  who  was 
rapidly  usurping  his  sister's  place  as  head  of 
the  house. 

"And  think  of  the  money  we'll  make!" 
reminded  Milton. 

"And  the  milk  and  butter  and  cream  and 
good  things  to  eat  without  buying  them!" 
exclaimed  Gus. 

"And  huntin'  f'r  eggs  and  swimmin*  in 
the  river  and  skatin'  and  gettin'  hickory  nuts 
and  all  the  apples  you  kin  eat,"  persuaded 
Bobby,  who  had  evidently  been  listening  to 
the  Boarder's  fancies  of  farm  life. 

"Thar's  a  school  close  by,  and  all  the 
chillern  kin  go,"  said  the  mother  anxiously. 
"Mebby  you  kin  git  to  teach  it  after  a  while, 
Amarilly." 

"Oh,  Amarilly!"  cried  Lily  Rose  ecstati- 
[265] 


AMARILLY  OP  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

cally,  "to  think  of  all  the  trees,  and  all  the 
sky,  and  all  the  green  grass  and  all  the  birds 
-  oh,  Amarilly !" 

Words  failed  Lily  Rose,  but  she  sighed  a 
far-seeing  blissful  sigh  of  exquisite  happiness 
at  her  horoscope.  The  Boarder  looked  at  her, 
his  heart  eloquent  in  his  eyes,  but  he  said 
nothing. 

"Amarilly,"  cried  Cory,  "we  kin  hev  real 
flowers  fer  nuthin'  and  pies  and  ice-cream, 
and  we  kin  cuddle  little  chicks  like  ma  told 
me,  and  make  daisy  chains,  and  hev  picnics 
in  the  woods.  Oh  - 

Words  also  proved  inadequate  to  Go's 
anticipations. 

"Amawilly,  we  kin  play  wiv  little  lambs," 
lisped  Iry. 

"Bud,  you  haven't  made  your  speech,  yet," 
said  Amarilly,  wistfully,  realizing  that  the 
majority  was  against  her. 

"Bud  won't  go  till  fall,"  said  Mrs.  Jenkins. 

"Till  fall ! "  cried  Amarilly  faintly.  "  Why, 
when  are  we  going?" 

"Next  week,"  answered  the  Boarder  jubi- 
lantly. "The  folks  want  to  leave  right  away, 
and  we  must  get  busy  plan  tin'.  I  went  to 
Vedder's  friend,  the  real  estate  man,  this 

[266] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

mornin'  as  soon  as  I  got  back,  and  he  says 
it's  a  real  bargain." 

"But  why  isn't  Bud  going?" 

"This  morning,"  informed  Mrs.  Jenkins 
proudly,  "Bud  had  an  offer.  As  soon  as  the 
theatre  shuts  down,  Mr.  Vedder  is  going  to 
take  Bud  to  a  big  resort  and  manage  him 
for  the  season.  He'll  git  lots  of  money.  I 
wouldn't  let  Bud  go  off  with  no  one  else, 
but  Mr.  Vedder  is  so  nice,  and  he  says  when 
Bud  goes  to  the  country  in  the  fall  he  kin 
come  into  the  city  Saturday  nights  on  the 
Interurban  and  sing  in  the  choir  Sundays 
and  come  back  Monday.  He  kin  stay  with 
him,  Mr.  Vedder  says.  And  the  country 
air  and  the  fresh  milk  and  eggs  will  make  a 
diff'rent  boy  of  him.  It's  what  the  doctor 
says  he'd  orter  hev." 

"Then,  we'll  go,  of  course,"  declared  Ama- 
rilly  resolutely. 

"And,  Amarilly,"  said  the  Boarder  gravely, 
"your  ma  ain't  said  why  she  wanted  to  go, 
but  think  of  the  difference  it  will  make  in  her 
life.  To  be  sure,  she  will  have  to  work  hard, 
but  with  you,  Lily  Rose,  and  Co  to  help  her, 
it  won't  be  so  hard,  and  it'll  be  higher  class 
work  than  slushing  around  in  tubs  and  water, 

[267] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

and  she'll  Lev  good  feedin'  and  good  air, 
and  we'll  all  feel  like  we  was  folks  and  our 
own  bosses." 

"Ma,  I  was  selfish!"  cried  Amarilly  re- 
morsefully. "I'll  work  like  a  hired  man!" 

Amarilly  thereupon  bravely  assumed  a 
cheerful  mien  and  looked  over  the  Boarder's 
figures,  listening  with  apparently  great  en- 
thusiasm to  the  plans  and  projects.  But 
when  she  was  upstairs  in  her  own  little  bed 
and  each  and  every  other  Jenkins  was  wrapt 
in  happy  slumber,  she  turned  her  face  to  the 
wall,  and  wept  long,  silently,  and  miserably. 
Far-away  fields  and  pastures  did  not  look 
alluring  to  this  little  daughter  of  the  city 
who  put  bricks  and  mortar  and  lighted  streets 
above  trees  and  meadows,  for  Amarilly  was 
entirely  metropolitan;  sky-scrapers  were  her 
birthright,  and  she  loved  every  inch  of  her 
city. 

"But  it's  best  for  them,"  she  acknowledged. 

A  little  pang  came  with  the  realization  that 
they  who  had  been  so  dependent  upon  her 
guardianship  for  guidance  were  entirely  com- 
petent to  act  without  her. 

"It's  Flam.  He's  growed  up!"  she  sobbed, 
correctness  of  speech  slipping  from  her  in  her 

[268] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

grief.  "And  he  don't  know  near  so  much  as 
I  do,  only  he's  a  man  —  or  going  to  be  —  so 
what  he  says  goes." 

And  with  this  bitter  but  inevitable  recog- 
nition of  the  things  that  are,  Amarilly  sobbed 
herself  to  sleep. 


[269] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

^  I  ^HE  next  morning  Amarilly  served 
A  Derry's  breakfast  in  heavy-hearted 
silence,  replying  in  low-voiced  monosyllables 
to  his  gay,  conversational  advances.  She 
performed  her  household  duties  about  the 
studio  listlessly  though  with  conscientious 
thoroughness.  When  it  came  time  to  pre- 
pare luncheon,  Derry  called  her  into  the 
studio. 

"Come  here  to  the  light,  where  I  can  see 
you  best,  Amarilly." 

Reluctantly  she  came. 

He  turned  his  searching,  artist's  eyes  upon 
her  unsparingly,  noting  the  violet  shadows 
under  the  white-lidded  eyes,  and  the  hard, 
almost  tragic  lines  in  the  drooping  of  her 
mobile  mouth.  She  bore  his  gaze  unflinch- 
ingly, with  indrawn  breath  and  clenched 
hands. 

"What  is  it,  Amarilly?"  he  asked  gently. 
"You  will  tell  me,  nicht  wahr?" 

These  two  last  words  were  in  deference  to 
her  new  study  of  German. 

[270] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

At  the  genuine  sympathy  in  his  voice, 
Amarilly's  composure  gave  way  and  there 
was  a  rush  of  tears. 

He  led  her  to  a  divan  and  sat  beside  her. 

;'Yes,  of  course  you  will  tell  me,  Amarilly. 
I  knew  there  was  an  emotional  side  to  my 
practical,  little  maid,  and  I  noticed  at  break- 
fast that  there  was  something  wrong." 

'Yes,"  she  replied,  with  an  effort,  wiping 
away  the  rising  tears,  "I  will  tell  you,  but  no 
one  else.  If  I  told  Mr.  Vedder,  he  would 
not  understand ;  he  would  say  I  must  do  what 
was  sensible.  If  I  told  Mr.  St.  John,  he  would 
be  shocked,  and  tell  me  that  duty  was  hard, 
and  that  was  why  it  must  be  done,  —  to 
strengthen.  Mrs.  St.  John  would  laugh,  and 
say:  'Oh,  what  a  foolish  Amarilly!" 

"And  what  will  I  say,  Amarilly?"  he  asked 
interestedly. 

"You!  Oh,  you  will  understand  what  I 
feel,  and  you  will  be  sorry." 

"Then  spin  away,  Amarilly.  You'll  have 
my  sympathy  and  help  in  everything  that 
makes  you  feel  bad,  whether  it's  right  or 
wrong." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Deny,  we  are  all  going  away - 
way  off  to  the  country  —  to  live  on  a  farm!" 

[271] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

"Amarilly,  you  little  city  brat!  You'd  be 
a  misfit  on  a  farm.  Tell  me  what  has  sent 
the  Jenkins  family  into  the  open." 

Faithfully  Amarilly  enumerated  the  pros 
and  cons  of  the  agricultural  venture.  When 
she  had  concluded  her  narrative,  Derry,  to 
her  surprise  and  sorrow,  looked  positively 
jubilant. 

"And  you  don't  want  to  live  in  the  country, 
eh,  Amarilly?" 

"No,  Mr.  Derry,"  she  protested.  "I  don't. 
I  have  never  been  there,  but  I  know  the  woods 
and  the  fields  and  —  all  that  —  must  be 
beautiful  --in  patches  —  but  I  couldn't  bear 
it  all  the  time  —  not  to  see  all  the  bright  and 
white  lights  at  night  and  the  hurry,  and  the 
people,  and  the  theatres.  No!  I'd  rather 
be  the  poorest  little  speck  here  than  to  own 
and  live  on  the  biggest  farm  in  the  world." 

He  laughed  delightedly. 

"Oh,  Amarilly,  you  little  gamin!  You 
have  the  right  idea,  though.  We  don't  want 
anything,  however  perfect  it  may  be,  all  the 
time.  We  want  it  just  'in  patches'  -as 
you  say.  You'll  love  the  country  with  your 
whole  heart  and  soul  when  you  come  to  see 
it  if  you  know  that  you  can  leave  it.  But 

[272] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

this  is  a  big  change  in  your  affairs,  and  we 
must  talk  it  over.  We'll  go  to  Carter's 
again  for  luncheon.  Take  off  your  apron 
and  cap.  You  won't  have  to  fix  your  hair 
this  time.  It's  even  more  beautiful  than  it 
was  then.  Your  frock,  if  it  is  cheap  and  plain, 
is  artistic  in  cut  and  color." 

Amarilly  felt  cheered  in  spite  of  herself  at 
his  exuberant  manner,  but  burst  into  tears 
when  on  leaving  the  studio  he  casually  re- 
marked : 

"So  this  is  almost  the  last  of  your  work 
here!  I  can  never  hope  to  get  such  another 
housekeeper  as  you.  I  shall  have  to  eat  out 
again." 

At  sight  of  her  grief  he  took  hold  of  her 
arm  almost  roughly. 

"Amarilly,  you  little  goose,  do  you  suppose 
I  am  going  to  let  you  be  exiled  to  a  farm  and 
lapse  into  the  vernacular  of  the  Boarder? 
Now,  buck  up  and  trust  to  the  judgment  and 
affection  of  your  twin  brother." 

Amarilly,  wondering  but  hopeful,  "bucked 
up,"  and  they  walked  in  silence  to  Carter's, 
where  Deny  ordered  a  private  dining-room 
and  luncheon.  Then: 

"Now,  listen  my  child,  and  you  shall  hear, 
[273] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

not  of  the  midnight  ride  of  Paul  Revere,  but 
of  the  sad  story  of  the  life  of  your  twin  brother. 
My  parents  died  when  I  was  too  young  to 
grieve  for  them.  They  are  only  a  faint 
memory.  I  had  a  cold-blooded,  sensible 
guardian  who  put  me  into  a  boys'  school, 
from  which  I  went  to  college,  and  then  for 
a  year  in  Paris.  He  didn't  let  me  know  the 
amount  of  my  inheritance.  Consequently  I 
really  worked  and  worked  hard  at  the  only 
thing  I  cared  for  and  formed  no  extravagant 
tastes.  Neither  was  I  courted  and  flattered 
by  parasites. 

"On  my  return  from  Paris,  a  year  before 
I  met  you,  I  came  into  my  mother's  fortune, 
and  recently  I  have  received  the  one  left  me 
by  my  father.  Having  been  brought  up  to 
live  a  comparatively  simple  life,  in  the  belief 
that  I  would  be  dependent  on  my  own  exer- 
tions, I  have  more  money  than  I  know  what 
to  do  with  as  yet.  I  have  no  one,  not  even  a 
fifth  cousin,  to  be  interested  in.  I  have  any 
number  of  acquaintances,  but  no  really  in- 
timate friends,  so  I  have  no  one  to  help  me 
spend  and  enjoy  my  money. 

"There  was  something  about  you,  Amarilly, 
that  appealed  to  me  that  first  day  you  came 

[274] 


AMAR1LLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

up  to  the  studio.  It  couldn't  have  been  your 
looks,  for  aside  from  your  hair,  your  expres- 
sive eyes,  and  your  hands,  you  are  quite 
ordinary  looking;  but  something  about  you 
amused  me,  then  interested  me,  and  now 
fascinates  me.  I  have  thought  about  it  a 
good  deal,  and  have  come  to  the  conclusion 
that  it  is  your  direct  naturalness  and  earnest- 
ness. I  have  really  come  to  feel  as  if  you 
were  a  sort  of  a  younger  sister  of  mine.  I 
have  done  a  very  little  for  you  in  the  way  of 
education,  and  I  have  intended  to  do  more. 
The  reason  I  have  been  slow  about  it  was  - 
for  reasons.  I  have  discussed  your  future 
with  the  Merediths  a  great  many  times. 

"What  I  wished  to  do  was  to  put  you  in 
the  best  girls'  school  I  could  find  and  when 
you  were  finished  there,  to  send  you  abroad, 
and  give  you  the  same  advantages  that  a 
sister  of  mine  would  have.  But  as  I  say, 
I  hesitated.  It  didn't  seem  exactly  wise  to 
separate  you  from  your  family,  surround 
you  with  different  environments  and  then 
have  you  come  home  to  —  the  alley.  I 
know  your  loyal  little  heart  would  never  waver 
in  its  affection  for  them,  but  such  a  decided 
change  would  not  be  wise. 

[2751 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

"Now,  you  see,  this  farm  business  sim- 
plifies things  wonderfully.  With  the  thrift 
and  industry  of  your  brothers  and  the  Boarder 
I  can  easily  see  the  farm  is  going  to  be  a  pros- 
perous undertaking,  and  by  the  time  you  are 
finished  —  say  five  years  —  for  Miss  Varley 
tells  me  you  are  quite  up  with  the  girls  of 
your  age  in  your  studies,  they  will  have  a 
substantial  country  home  which  you  will 
enjoy  immensely  between  times.  You  will 
find  that  a  country  home,  however  humble, 
is  not  sordid  like  an  obscure  home  in  the 
city.  So  next  week,  Amarilly,  or  as  soon  as 
Mrs.  Meredith  can  fit  you  out  properly, 
you  will  be  packed  off  to  an  ultra-smart 
school.  There  will  be  one  term  this  year, 
but  I  think  you  should  remain  through  the 
summer  vacation  and  have  private  tutor- 
ing." 

The  waiter  entered  with  the  first  course. 
When  he  had  again  gone  out,  Amarilly  looked 
up  at  Derry,  her  eyes  full  of  a  yearning  that 
touched  him. 

"It  would  be  lovely,  Mr.  Derry.  Too 
lovely  to  happen,  you  know." 

"There,  Amarilly,"  he  said  with  a  combina- 
tion of  frown  and  smile,  "there  it  is  again  — 

[276] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

your  contradiction  of  eyes  and  mouth  — 
the  one  of  a  gazelle;  the  other,  of  a  mule. 
I'll  answer  your  objections  before  you  make 
them,  for  it  is  determined  that  you  are  to 

go-" 

The  look  he  had  ascribed  to  Amarilly's 
mouth  came  into  the  forward  thrust  of  his 
chin. 

"First,  you  think  you  are  too  proud  and  in- 
dependent to  accept.  From  your  viewpoint 
it  seems  a  good  deal  to  do.  From  mine, 
proved  by  my  bank  account,  it  is  an  absurdly 
small  thing  to  do,  but  if  you  are  truly  grateful 
for  what  you  are  pleased  to  think  I  have  done 
for  you,  you  will  let  me  do  this,  because  you 
feel  sorry  for  me  that  I  am  so  alone  in  the 
world.  And  St.  John,  himself,  would  tell 
you  it  was  your  duty  to  make  the  most  of 
your  talents  and  opportunities.  You  can 
also  do  a  little  charity  work  in  keeping  me 
straight,  for  you  see,  Amarilly,  I  am  going 
to  Paris  for  two  years  to  study,  and  I  will 
have  an  incentive  to  work  and  not  play  too 
hard  if  I  know  I  have  a  little  sister  over  here 
in  school  who  would  be  sorry  if  her  brother 
went  wrong  and  didn't  get  to  be  a  great 

[277] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

artist.  So  for  your  sake,  and  for  my 
sake  - 

"But  there's  ma's  sake,"  she  said  wist- 
fully. "The  Boarder  says  woman's  work 
on  the  farm  is  hard." 

"There's  the  Boarderess  and  Co - 

"Lily  Rose  is  not  strong  and  doesn't  know 
much  about  farm  work,  and  Go's  only  a 
kid." 

"Well,  I  hadn't  finished.  You  have  an 
interest  in  the  farm  as  one  of  the  syndicate, 
and  you  have  some  money  saved." 

"Yes,"  admitted  Amarilly  bewildered,  not 
following  his  train  of  thought. 

"Well,  you  won't  need  that  now,  and  it 
can  go  towards  a  woman  to  help  —  a  hired 
girl  in  country  vernacular  —  during  the  busy 
seasons.  And  you  can  go  home  summers. 
Every  week  you  are  to  write  me  a  long 
letter  and  tell  me  about  yourself  and 
them." 

Amarilly  was  gazing  into  space,  and  in 
silence  he  watched  the  odd,  little  signs  of 
conflict.  It  was  the  same  sort  of  a  struggle, 
only  harder  and  more  prolonged,  that  she 
had  passed  through  two  years  before  at  the 
theatre  when  her  untutored  conscience  bade 

[278] 


AMARILLY  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 

her  relinquish  her  seat.     Suddenly  her  coun- 
tenance became  illumined. 

"I  am  going  to  do  it,  Mr.  Deny!  I  am 
going  to  let  you  send  me  to  school,  and  abroad 
and  wherever  you  think  best." 


THE    END 


[279] 


Un 


